Les Fortuit
by Kit Harrison
Summary: "Had you been there tonight you might know how it feels to be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight!" "Fool," he thought bitterly, glancing in Éponine's direction. "I knew the feeling long before you did." In which even the most marble of men is fortuitous enough to unwittingly fall in love. Enjolras/Éponine.
1. Prologue

Summary: "Had you been there tonight you might know how it feels to be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight!" _Fool_, he thought bitterly, glancing in Éponine's direction. _I knew the feeling long before you did. _In which even the most marble of men is fortuitous enough to unwittingly fall in love. Enjolras/Éponine.

Hello, FanFiction. What a pleasure to finally be publishing on you.

So I've decided to try my hand at writing in one of the most emotionally complex fandoms on this site. Yes, I am a masochist. Well, good or apocalyptically horrible, I hope that you, my dear readers, may find some form of joy in perusing my creation.

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Is it possible for one's heart to beat hard enough, fast enough to kill? Could it possibly overwork itself to the point that it would suddenly cease to beat altogether?

For a moment, I wished mine would.

These were the absurd thoughts that crossed my mind as I stumbled through the streets of Paris, half mad from panic. I was aware that I had already bumped into several people, nearly knocking them down, without a single apology, but I was too detached, too crazed to really care. My hair stuck to my face and neck, trapped by the cold sweat that broke out across my skin. My breathing was ragged, and I guessed that my complexion had turned an unnatural scarlet under my new bruises. I knew that I looked horrid, not dissimilar to the escapee of an asylum, yet I ran on.

I finally stopped to sag against the wall of an alley when I became sure my lungs would burst from any further exertion. No sooner had I stopped than I leaned over and emptied the contents of my stomach into a sewer drain. Tears, sweat, and vomit mingled until my heaving ended. In vain I tried to catch my breath and calm my heart. In vain I tried to forget.

Only a quarter of an hour prior, I had been sitting on the stoop of my family's shack, if our dwelling could even be called such, observing the activities of the passerby. It was a regular pastime of mine, a distraction from my own hardship. To the untrained eye, the avenue on which I lived seemed like most other rundown Parisian streets, with men and women innocently going about their business. My view was not so innocent.

I saw the pickpocket, slick as the damp pavement, slip his hand in and out of the purse of an ignorant civilian. I saw the ragged debtor hounded by his creditor in a dark niche, cowering under the threat of his weapon. I saw the procurer, followed by his trio of giggling prostitutes, handing one of them off to a drunkard for the night.

I silently thanked whatever higher power there was that my father's heart was not yet black enough to whore me off for his own gain. Fortunately, with his criminal connections, Père had never had to resort to me or Azelma for profit in the business of prostitution. He had others for that occupation.

My musings were interrupted by a smooth voice, familiar but unpleasant.

"Hello, Éponine. Something troubling that pretty head of yours?"

It had been almost ten years since I first made the acquaintance of Montparnasse, but his presence never failed to send a chill through me. On the outside, he could almost pass for a bourgeois with his fine clothes, his dark hair, his pretty face, but it was his mannerisms, his underlying sense of mischief that gave away his true criminal nature. We had been close before he began killing.

I lifted my eyes to that pretty face of his, willing ice into my gaze. "Montparnasse."

My glare was not as effective as I hoped. He smirked down at me, a glint in his eye. "Saw you eyeing those whores there. Finally thinking about giving in and joining the business?" His smirk widened as he tilted his head lower, closer to mine. "I'd give a few francs for your services..."

I made a sound of disgust in my throat. To think that only a few short years prior, this immoral man had been my closest friend...

I shook my head, pushing roughly against his shoulder and rising. He straightened his posture, no longer looming over me but smirking all the same. "Can I help you with something? If not, your presence here is unwarranted."

The smirk finally dropped as Montparnasse resumed a serious air. "Actually, I do wish to speak with your father. Is he in?"

I nodded and turned on the threshold to lead him in. Unaffected by the hovel's usual stench, I crossed the first of the two rooms that made up our simple dwelling and brought Montparnasse to the back room to which my father had retired several hours earlier, probably to sleep off his intoxication. The floor creaked under our feet, and Montparnasse had to duck his head as we passed through the second doorway.

As expected, we found my father only semiconscious in the corner, mouth agape. He was mumbling senselessly to himself, lingering between sleep and wakefulness. He seemed unaware of his surroundings but not devoid of thought or incapable of action.

Just my luck. I dreaded approaching my father with alcohol in his system, and as of late I had been forced to do so more and more frequently. I had long ago come to find that his anger could only be vented through abuse.

I eyed Montparnasse hopefully and decided to pull out his old nickname, wanting to soften him up. "'Parnasse, is it truly urgent? You know that he is likely too inebriated to communicate anyhow."

He caught right on. "Nice try, _'Ponine_, but I have business to attend to. Wake him."

I scowled at him and mentally noted that despite all of his outward fineries, he fit right into the repulsive setting that was my home.

Stepping forward with a sigh, I placed a hand on my father's shoulder. "Père," I called, shaking him lightly. "Père, you must wake."

I jumped when his hand suddenly shot out, catching my arm painfully. I squirmed, but his grip only tightened, bruising my flesh.

"_Girl, what have I told you about wa_-"

"Père, Montparnasse is here," I cut in desperately, hoping he would forget me at the mention of his business partner.

It worked. His grip slackened and I quickly slipped my arm away, retreating to the window on the far side of the room.

"Montparnasse," he drawled, momentarily forgetting his anger. "What brings you here?"

"Business, Monsieur. I am afraid I have unfortunate news."

My father's face darkened again. "Well? Out with it, boy."

Montparnasse wrinkled his nose, looking down at him and sniffing distastefully. If he felt fear, I could see no trace of it. "It seems we've had three girls run off with their clients in the last fortnight. None of them have yet to return, and I doubt they will."

Père stood menacingly. "_Three_, you say? Three regular incomes lost?"

I glared at my father's profile, disgusted by the way he made the words 'girl' and 'income' interchangeable.

"Precisely, Monsieur." Montparnasse continued, "The brothel in which we held them is now half empty."

"And what," my father groused, "do you suggest we do about it?"

Montparnasse absentmindedly pulled at his cravat, feigning deep thought before responding, "I suppose that until we find some... replacements, I will be forced to deprive you of your cut of the profit." He dared a smirk. "My _sincerest _apologies."

With that, he abruptly turned to leave, but, seeing the brewing storm that was my father's expression, I caught his arm.

"'Parnasse..." I did not need to speak any more. He of all people could read it plainly on my face: _Don't leave me alone with him. Not in this state._

He looked at me, and for a moment I thought he might actually have mercy on me as a normal, feeling human being would.

That hope shattered when the corner of his mouth lifted sinisterly. The smirk was back. "Yes, Éponine?" He pretended to be oblivious to my situation. He wanted me to beg.

And such was my choice. Sacrifice my dignity and elevate his by begging for my rescue, or keep my pride, letting him leave me there, and suffer the physical consequences.

At that moment I wanted to beat him, bang his head into the doorframe, scream at him for putting me in this position. He knew, he knew that never would I beg him, beg anyone for anything. I was far too proud. He knew this, he knew that the next time we met I would be swollen, bruised, and broken, and yet he would still leave me.

I released his arm. I thought that, for just a brief second, remorse flickered in his eyes. But it was gone before it was there, and he left.

I was shoved to the floor before I had the chance to brace myself.

"What have I done, eh? What have I done to deserve this?"

My silence was answered by the back of his hand to my face. Still I kept quiet. I had learned that it was the quickest and least painful way to take one of Père's beatings.

"Those little sluts... They're all the same, aren't they, 'Ponine? Running! Running at the smallest opportunity!"

He struck again. My head snapped to the side before he gripped my jaw none too gently, bringing my gaze back to his. A dark sneer was suddenly pulling at the corners of his lips.

"But, you, my girl... You wouldn't run, would you?"

I only blinked in response. This earned me another strike.

"Nothing to say? Well, then... Off to the brothel with you."

My heart stopped. He couldn't mean... No. _No._

"Père, please," I croaked helplessly. "Please, you're drunk."

His sharp bark of laughter pierced the air. "Drunk or not, my dear, I need that money." A swift kick to the side. "Now, to the brothel, or the alleys, or wherever paying clients might be!"

It was then that the reality of the situation began to dawn on me. I began to hyperventilate, my eyes wide with tears that were too shocked to fall. Never before had my own father been willing to go to such lengths. I had never believed he would.

He kicked me again but lower, catching my stomach and effectively knocking the breath out of me. "Père... Père, _please_," I rasped. "Please, it..." I closed my eyes as the first tear finally rolled. "It is all I have left."

My father was silent for a moment, but when he realized to what I was referring, he laughed again, louder than before. "Your virtue, all you have left? Really and truly, 'Ponine?" Another harsh chuckle. "Then let me tell you the hard truth, girl..." He knelt to my level, catching my eyes with his. At that moment, I hardly recognized him, that man I called my father. "In the end you will lose everything. _Everything_. All your money, all your happiness - gone. The only way to get it back is to give a little something yourself." He sneered again, displaying his decayed teeth. "And face it, my dear, being the slut that you and all other women are, you were bound to lose it anyway. Might as well charge for it."

Never had I been so insulted, by my own father or anyone else. Fear turned to white hot anger. Before I knew what I was doing, I took advantage of our close proximity and spat straight in his eye.

I regretted it before he even realized it happened. He reeled back, wiping at his eye and hissing in a frightfully animalistic manner. When our eyes met again, I learned what it truly was to fear for one's life. I would have run had pure terror not paralyzed me.

"You _bitch_." He hauled me up by the roots of my hair and shoved me against the wall hard enough to make the entire shack quake. I winced at the splinters in my back and squirmed under his murderous scowl as he held me there. "How dare you, how _dare _you disrespect me! You live under my roof, eat my damn food, and this is what you give me?" He punched me in the gut, and I saw spots. "I was merciful before, girl, but now..."

I used the last of my adrenaline to desperately pull away from him. I backed myself to the room's opposite corner, trying to keep my trembling to a minimum, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Père, Père, please, just listen to me-"

"What is going on in here?"

My mother suddenly appeared in the doorway. Maybe there was a God.

I could see her eyes take in the scene before her, perceiving my predicament in mere seconds. In one swift motion, she pulled me from the room by my wrist. I was dragged to the front door, where she turned me around and held me by my shoulders, looking me in the eye.

"_Run_. Get out of here."

"But- but, Mère..." I looked to her desperately, frantically. I was still gasping in panic.

She gave me a stern, exasperated look in return. "Girl, what good would it do you to stay here now? _Go_. I'll take care of your father."

I shut my mouth and nodded dumbly. My mother may not have been the best suited for her position, never doting on me as most mothers would their daughters, but there was no doubt in my heart that she cared for me - at least more than Père did. She, at least, cared if I were alive.

She pushed me toward the door once more. "You won't come back until he's drunk himself to sleep again, if you know what's good for you," she instructed hurriedly. "And you won't return without pay either, you hear? I don't care where you find it or how you get it. Just make sure to bring extra - then maybe then your father'll let you stay here, out of the brothel. Understood?"

Again I nodded, trying to regain what I could of my composure. "Yes... _Merci_, Mère."

She turned from me to return to my raging father, but faced me again at the last moment. "'Ponine."

"Mère?"

"'Ponine..." She thought for a moment. "If you can't find the money, just... You'd be better off out there, girl."

I stood stock still before nodding slowly. I understood.

And then I ran. I ran and ended up in this alley, sweating, vomiting, crying what was left of my tears and trying to decide what I could possibly do next.

I tried to calculate in my head the amount of money that would be required to appease my father and buy my way back into my own home. I decided with a curse that my salvation could only be assured with twice the profit I was capable of gaining in a matter of hours. I could not show my face at home with any less, else I would be sent off to take up a far less honorable occupation.

I also began to think of what to do should worse come to worst. If I could not come up with the money I needed, should I return home, imploring my father for his forgiveness anyway? Or should I remain on the streets, lay low for a while, as my mother suggested? And even then, how could I, a lone girl, survive on the streets without losing what I would have if I had returned home to be sent to the whore house? No girl was safe in the city of Paris after dark, not even a Thénardier. And where would I live? Would I be able to find foo-

_No_, I thought. I would not think of such things when there was an alternative. I would find money, one way or another, return home, and make some sort of amends with my father. I would find a way to resume normalcy.

Firming my resolve, I wiped from my face what I could of the filth and water droplets (tears or perspiration, I could not tell). I took a deep breath and finally exited the alley, bound for some district of the city populated by wealthier patrons. Upon regaining my bearings, I was surprised to find that my blind flight had led me all the way to the Seine. The Île de la Cité and its great cathedral rose before me.

A moment more of thought and I decided to cross the river and make my way toward the Panthéon. Surely the civilians there would possess more on their person than those on my usual route in Montmartre.

Only ten more minutes of walking and I was there. I took in the sight before me. I was not the only one seeking a profit that day - at least ten beggars already dotted the steps of the Panthéon, and many more could be seen navigating the crowds of bourgeoisie. I felt a stab of pity in my gut as I observed them. Most of the passerby did not dare spare them even a glance, and those that did held disdain, not compassion, in their eyes. The beggars seemed to be having little success that day.

But I was not there to beg. I considered myself too clever for such an occupation. Besides, my methods were far more profitable.

I leaned casually on a lamppost, searching the crowd for a potential target. I soon found him - a young man, well dressed, maybe a little over twenty years of age, hurrying briskly down the street in the direction of the Seine. A student from the quartier latin, I guessed. Wealthy enough, but surely not damageable by a small financial loss. I silently snaked into the multitude to follow.

I had abstained from thievery for at least a few months preceding that day, so I was delighted to find that my skill was not rusted. Within a minute, I exited the horde with my prize, a leather wallet, and began to peruse its contents. I ignored the guilt pulling at my heart and instead inwardly rejoiced as I counted the man's francs - more than enough to return home! Five, ten, fifteen, _twenty_- then I saw it.

Tucked away in a back compartment, carefully preserved, was a small lock of hair, dark and soft to the touch. It was tied lovingly with a small pink ribbon. I finally began to acknowledge the pull at my heart. Money was replaceable, but this - this was a keepsake. To whom did it belong? A sister? A child? A lover? For a man to care enough for his partner to carry a piece of her with him...

My heart swelled. With a sigh and a shake of my head, the francs were replaced and I was back in the crowd, pushing my way to the man I had robbed of his wallet only a minute earlier. I ran as quickly as the masses would allow, trying to keep him in my sight. When I was within hearing range I called out to him.

"Monsieur! Excusez-moi, Monsieur!"

I reached him before he heard me. I touched his back but quickly retracted my hand when he turned to meet my eyes. He, like most other bourgeoisie, likely would not stand to be touched by someone of my class.

But the man did not seem disgusted in the slightest. Though his eyes flicked to my rags and emaciation before my face, only puzzlement crossed his features. He had kind eyes, if not slightly pitying. "Mademoiselle? Can I help you with something?"

I hesitated for a moment, taken aback by his addressing me as a lady. I blinked and resumed my actions, holding out to him what I had taken. "Excusez-moi, Monsieur, but you dropped this while passing the Panthéon. I only wished to return it."

I almost laughed as the emotions flew across his face - surprise at my discovery, flustered panic that he had lost it in the first place, undying relief that it had been returned. The pain I felt at the surrendering of my prize disappeared. I put it into his hands.

"Oh, Mademoiselle," he said, rifling through the wallet and seeing all its contents in their rightful place. I saw his eyes linger with joy on the compartment in which the lock of hair was placed. "Mademoiselle, merci... Merci _beaucoup_. In what way can I repay you?"

I offered a small smile. He was so naïve. "Pay it no mind, Monsieur. It was no trouble."

I turned to go, prepared to blend back into the masses and maybe find another victim, perhaps one that was less kind, but he held my elbow gently. "Please, Mademoiselle, allow me to ease my conscience. Let me repay you. Could you make use of a few francs?"

I had to grin at the irony. I opened my mouth to assure him that payment was unnecessary when our exchange was suddenly interrupted.

"Combeferre!"

The man, presumably named Combeferre, finally broke my gaze to look up. Meanwhile, I tried in vain to calm my heart, which had begun to beat with renewed vigor at the sound of the newcomer's voice.

It was _him_. Marius.

He approached us, grinning but looking just as confused as Combeferre had when I initially approached him. My heart hammered in my chest, and I vaguely wondered if he could hear it. I certainly could. It was making such a ruckus.

I met his eyes more slowly, shyly as he came within arm's reach of us. _Oh God_.

"Éponine!" The tenor of his voice was so beautiful, he practically sang. "I did not know that you and Combeferre were acquainted."

Luckily Combeferre answered him. I did not trust my mouth at the moment. "Éponine, is it? Well, Éponine here is my savior! Dropped my wallet, I did, back there, before the Panthéon. I would have walked all the way to the Café Musain ignorant of my loss had she not seen my blunder and gone through the labor of returning it to me! I was just repaying her-"

I found my voice at the mention of payment. "Please, Monsieur, it is fine. Do not trouble your-"

"Oh, hush, Éponine, let the man pay you!" Marius was smiling at me and I suddenly had no will of my own. "What an admirable thing to do, returning his wallet like that. I bet that nine in ten people would not have. Today you're an angel, Éponine!"

He called me an angel. _He called me an angel._

Now they were both grinning down at me, waiting for me to speak. "Uh... I guess-" I cleared my throat. "I guess I could permit it, though it truly is unneeded."

_Nice work, Éponine. That came out relatively normal._

"Good, then!" declared Combeferre, reaching into his wallet. He happily pulled out five francs and pressed them into my hand. "Thank you, Mademoiselle, for acting as my savior and a model citizen."

I grinned at his good nature. "Again, Monsieur, pay it no mind. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," he said, returning my grin.

The guilt was still present as I deposited the money into a fold of my dress, but it was somewhat subdued by my happiness. A little more and I could go home after all.

Marius again addressed Combeferre, "You were off to the Musain, you said?"

"Yes. I spoke with Enjolras before class today, and he said that we shall have an impromptu meeting."

"Best not defy our fearless leader," Marius said with a chuckle. "I suppose that Éponine and I will have to come along then."

I had been inconspicuously trying to search out my last victim of the day from the waning crowds and slowly retracting myself from the conversation when Marius said my name. I looked back to him with a slightly startled expression. "I'm sorry?"

"Come on, Éponine," Marius said cheerfully. "It is an open meeting. You would enjoy it."

I blushed then, embarrassed at being caught not listening. "Erm... What exactly is it now?"

Combeferre jumped at the chance to explain. "A meeting for the termination of oppression and the formation of a new republic - well, one that will eventually be. I suppose it is more an exchange of views and ideas than anything. We meet weekly, at the least." At my still doubtful look, he continued, "You should attend today's gathering! We are always happy to accept those interested in the cause."

I looked from Combeferre to Marius and back again. Were they jesting me? What were they doing, inviting a girl of my class to a meeting of students like them, presumably the more common type who would not take kindly to my poverty?

But one more look to Marius's green eyes and what little resolve I had crumbled. "Er... All right." I allowed the right corner of my mouth to rise nervously. "I suppose one meeting could do no harm."

Marius smiled and it was all worth it. I would jump from the highest spire of Notre Dame Cathedral for that smile.

Combeferre clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "Excellent, my friends! Then off we go!"

In the course of one hour, I had met both the deepest pits of depression and the highest heavens of elation. The three of us set off down the street once again, two posh students and a street rat, perhaps the oddest sight in Paris, and I could not recall a time in the recent past that I had been happier.

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Prologue Word Count: 4,074

I apologize for the lack of Enjolras here. Not to worry, our Apollo is sure to make an appearance in the next chapter. This work will mainly focus on the pairing of Enjolras/Éponine (I adore them unashamedly), so there is that to look forward to.

Also, one last side note, I was clueless enough about 19th century men's attire to be unsure if the concept of a wallet even existed at that time. For the record, it did (source: Wikipedia).

Please review! I am open to all comments and constructive criticism. Make my day.


	2. Chapter 1

OH MY GOSH, IT'S MARDI GRAS. I AM SO FREAKING PUMPED.

But seriously. This is the best holiday ever. All of you who have never had the pleasure of visiting my lovely bayou state at this time of year, I encourage you to do so at least once. Your life is not complete until you do. Plus, we have no school down here right now. Haha.

Speaking of you lovely readers, can I just say how awesome you guys are? Really, I never expected such feedback from the very first chapter. Your reviews make me smile so hard and it's just... Yeah, you guys rock. Really and truly. Happy Mardi Gras, friends. I present to you the official Chapter 1.

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I was admittedly happy that we were late for the meeting.

As we approached the establishment dubbed the Café Musain, I slowed my gait, suddenly coming to my senses and feeling apprehension at the thought of entering into a building presumably filled with bourgeoisie far above my own social league. But Marius, sensing that I was no longer at his side, turned to give me a reassuring smile, guiding me by the arm to the café's threshold. Of course, I was powerless to stop him.

My worries were diminished upon entering, however, for no one present seemed to notice our entrance at all. Yes, there were twenty or so bourgeoisie as expected, but they all silently faced opposite the doorway. It seemed all interest was unwaveringly directed toward another individual.

Combeferre parted from Marius and me with a polite nod, and Marius and I likewise moved from the threshold to gain a better vantage point. It was only after we sidled along the right wall to stand near a window that I got my first clear view of our lecturer.

A man stood in the back of the room, speaking to his comrades from the elevated floor of the bar area - not that he required any elevation. I had a feeling that had he stood on level ground, he still would have dominated every other there in height. He, like the other students, took no notice of the odd duo slipping through the throng, but continued to speak in a loud voice, booming and gentle and angry all at once. Whatever he spoke of, it obviously put him into a passion.

He was the conventional image of an angel, to put it simply. From his golden hair to his azure eyes, he seemed the product of perfect breeding. He had quite a presence - his voice rang sharp and confident, and his shoulders were squared as if ready for battle. One could not help but admire what a creature he was.

But for all his remarkable features, I could not think him handsome - the words coming from his mouth prevented such an opinion. I felt a scowl form and deepen as I listened to his declamation.

"- and do you know the depths of it? Can you begin to fathom the injustice thrust upon them? Equality of men is a nonexistent notion to our present government. It is a government that forsakes the poor and downtrodden. Have any of you, my friends, had the misfortune of venturing into the less affluent districts of Paris? Goutte d'Or? Montmartre, perhaps?"

A collection of murmurs rose from the small crowd of students, and a few of them nodded knowingly. I set my jaw.

"Yes, my friends," the speaker continued, driven by his audience's response. "It seems the very gateway to living hell, yet it is the most densely populated region of our city. And its occupants - has man ever seen such a pitiful sight? How can we go on living our lives ignorant of their struggles? They have no means of fighting for themselves. What men would we be to refuse to take up arms in their name?"

There was another collective murmur, louder than before, as the students were riled by the man's words.

I decided that I did not like him at all.

He smirked to himself, satisfied by the response he elicited. "It is our responsibility as honorable men to defend these people who have no defense, to give to them who have nothing, to be gracious to those who lack grace-"

I stopped listening then, clenching my teeth in indignation. Who did this excuse of a man think he was? There was scarcely anything I detested more than pity and patronization, and he was positively bursting with both.

What did he even know of our conditions? Judging by his words and appearance, I doubted he could last even a day on the streets. What right had he to act as though he understood, to _patronize_ us-

"Éponine?" Marius whispered lightly, pulling me from my mental rant. The speech continued, but his eyes were on me. He looked concerned.

My brow furrowed in worry. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "You just looked very uncomfortable, is all. Are you well?"

It occurred to me that my expression must have reflected my murderous thoughts. I blushed slightly, touched by his concern. "I am well, Monsieur," I reassured him. "But I believe I will step out for a bit, if that is all right."

For once I did not mind bypassing an opportunity to be near Marius - not if it meant putting distance between myself and our loathsome speaker.

"Of course, 'Ponine. Take what time you need."

I made my way back to the door, careful to stay close to the wall and draw as little attention as possible. Upon reaching the main doorway, however, the ragged end of my dress caught a splinter in the floor panels, halting my progress. I mentally cursed as I turned back to pull my rags free.

But just as I liberated myself, I was caught by yet another force.

In one moment, in just one small fraction of a second, I looked from the floor to the room before me and unintentionally locked my eyes with the ones I had come to abhor in a mere minute. Our gazes met, and my exit was forgotten. His blue eyes so pierced my own that, although he continued to speak, we both stilled our motions for what seemed hours.

I felt as though with one look, this man to whom I had never spoken a word had dissected my very soul.

And I hated him all the more for it.

I managed to break our mutual gaze before he could, and I hastily made my exit.

I leaned against the building's exterior, a little ways from the doorway, breathing heavily for a reason I could not comprehend. And why was my heart beating forcefully enough for my hearing? It was the second time that day.

I excused these abnormal feelings as a response to the absurd message being given within the café - nothing but nonsense disguised by pretty words spoken by a pretty man.

Reminding myself of my temper, I made a conscious effort to extinguish it. I became calm, closing my eyes and resting my head on the wall behind me. A light breeze ruffled my hair and I sighed.

What on earth was I doing there anyway? I shook my head at my own foolishness and resolved to walk home when a thought occurred to me.

_I do not have the money._

I cursed myself for allowing my mind to be diverted from my goal. Dusk would soon settle, probably within the hour, and the only pickpocketing that could be done after dark would have to be done between drunks in an alehouse. I much preferred to keep my craft outdoors, in the open, where there was less chance of incident, but any civilian worth victimizing was not moronic enough to roam the streets after night fell.

But it had to be done; the five francs hidden in my dress could not afford my homecoming. I pushed away from the wall, determined to find some profit from the lingering passerby before the hour became too late, when a voice stopped me.

"Mademoiselle?"

_Merde_. I recognized the voice immediately and knew it was directed toward me. The few other people within sight were all men.

What could he want with me?

I groaned internally before deciding to be polite. I turned to meet none other than the speaker from the café, striding from the doorway to meet me. He was slightly more intimidating in close proximity. I straightened my posture as I defiantly met his eyes, attempting to lessen our height difference.

"Monsieur." My greeting sounded colder than intended, but I did not plan to correct myself. "Can I help you with something?"

The man reached me, and he actually had to look down to speak to me. "I only wish to formally make your acquaintance. I have never seen you at a meeting, and I make it a point to know the members of my audience."

I gave him a tight smile. "Do not trouble yourself. I only attended as a favor to a friend, and I do not believe I will return."

He raised a blonde brow at me, seemingly confused as to how a person would ever opt to decline his presence. "You know, an escort is not required. You may come to our meetings on your own."

"I know this, Monsieur."

This seemed to puzzle him further. "Is there a particular reason that you would refrain from attending then?"

My anger returned. I could not help glaring at him in all his audacity. "Well, _Monsieur_, believe it or not, I do in fact have a-"

I stopped myself. _Remember your place, Éponine. Provoking this man will do you no good_.

I took a step back. "Forgive me, Monsieur. Now I must be going."

I was halted by his grip on my wrist, and for some reason, I was exceptionally enraged by the fact that he dared to touch me.

"Mademoiselle, please. Did I say something to offend you?"

My aggravation must have been more apparent than I intended. I did not think that he would have noticed.

But why was this man going through such trouble to learn the cause of my disquiet? I took a breath, trying to keep a calm tone of voice as I addressed him. "You only voiced what people commonly believe. I have no right to be offended."

He stepped back, crossing his arms across his broad chest thoughtfully. "Clarify, if you will."

I took this as permission to lash out, wholly and truthfully. The avalanche of fury I had reigned in was to be released.

He asked for it.

I took a step toward him and crossed my own arms sternly. My voice almost shook with indignation. "You speak of oppression. You speak of mistreatment, and homelessness, and every other misfortune of the impoverished that comes to that pretty head of yours as if you yourself experienced it. How could you, a bloody _bourgeois_, possibly begin to grasp it? You go about your daily life at university, sure of your next meal and income. Why, you were probably born on a bed of gold!"

"I will thank you to not make presumptions about my life." He was glowering at me now, his teeth clenched behind his lips. He appeared to be struggling to remain composed.

I raised my eyebrows at him incredulously. "Am I wrong? And then you go about speaking to your other rich friends, using your pretty words to inspire them to pity us in turn, to look at us like animals worth a scrap of bread!"

He stepped forward aggressively. I had not meant to bring forth anger in him, but it seemed that he presented an opportunity to voice every prejudice, every revulsion I had ever felt for the upper class. In my eyes, with his fine attire and condescending speech, he was the very embodiment of ignorant wealth.

"Mademoiselle, if that is what you believe I wish to inspire in my men, you are sorely mistaken-"

"'Ponine?"

I blinked at the new voice, willing my rage aside, and my expression softened as I looked to the door from which Marius was emerging. I smiled at him pleasantly, forgetting the pompous man beside me. It was soothing to be back in his presence.

He smiled back. "I only wanted to ensure that you were well out here. You have been absent for a while." His eyes then turned to my newfound rival. "I see you have met Enjolras!"

_Ah_, I thought, narrowing my eyes. _So this is the "fearless leader"._

Enjolras grinned at Marius as if nothing were amiss. "So you are the friend for whom she attended this evening?"

"Oh, yes. We have been friends for quite some time." My cheeks warmed and I beamed proudly, looking down to my feet as Marius continued. "I actually happened upon her and Combeferre earlier this afternoon en route to the meeting."

"Oh? And what was she doing with Combeferre?" He looked at me from the corner of his eye, as if suspecting me of wrongdoing. I scowled at him.

"She was returning his wallet." Marius chuckled. "The dolt dropped it in the street, and Éponine was thoughtful enough to restore it to him."

Marius then nudged my arm fondly, and I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling.

Thénardiers did _not_ giggle.

"Did she now?" Enjolras seemed too surprised for my liking. "How _kind_ of her."

"Monsieur Marius," I cut in, "I think I will be taking my leave now. Thank you for accompanying me to this... event."

I had to leave the presence of this _Enjolras_ before I became too rash. I had already verbally attacked the man.

"Are you sure, 'Ponine? The formal meeting is over. You could come inside for a drink."

I smiled at Marius's thoughtfulness. "No, thank you, Monsieur. I have a few errands to carry out before I return home."

I chose not to mention the fact that I could not afford a refreshment.

Enjolras eyed me warily. "What errands could you have to fulfill so late in the day?"

I pointedly ignored his question. "Au revoir, Monsieurs."

Oblivious to the tension between Enjolras and me, Marius continued to smile unfalteringly. "Au revoir then, 'Ponine. I will see you soon?"

I nodded happily, my grin matching his.

He retreated to the café, and I promptly turned to leave. I was just readying myself to disappear into a side alley when I perceived the sound of footfalls, light but sure, advancing behind me.

Oh, _marvelous_.

Without turning, I called out to him, "Whatever you plan to accomplish by following me, Monsieur, I assure you is not worth it. It is a long walk from here to Montmartre."

My unintended companion was not dissuaded, and he quickly used his longer strides to match mine. "So that is the reason for your unease."

I spared him a disdainful side glance. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are upset because I alluded to Montmartre as a... more unfortunate section of Paris."

I smirked at his wording. "I was not initially upset by that particular allusion, but now that you mention it, that proclamation was rather insulting."

I had been steadily increasing my speed as we conversed, lengthening my strides in the hope that Enjolras would forfeit his cause and return to the Musain. I was forced to an abrupt halt, however, when the man very suddenly stopped himself in front of me. I nearly stumbled into his chest and had to right myself before glaring up at him contemptuously.

He was not fazed. He spoke down to me, "Right, then." I was startled even further when he held his hand out, as if expecting me to occupy it with my own. "Mademoiselle - Éponine, was it? Allow me to extend to you my sincerest apologies."

I eyed him skeptically. He could not be in earnest.

Uncaring of my discourtesy, I folded my hands behind my back, effectively refusing his gesture. "Monsieur, I implore you now to shed your facade."

Enjolras appeared more befuddled than ever. He partially retracted his hand. "Pardon?"

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I realize that you hold yourself to a high social standard, but there is no need to use these pleasantries with me. You see me plainly for what I am and from where I hail, and I perceive your character accordingly. I think it best that we accept the truth of our mental incompatibility and go our separate ways in this city. Agreed?"

Enjolras stared at me in disbelief. His mouth opened and closed several times as if the words he wished to convey could not traverse the path from his mind to his tongue.

I simply stood there, hands folded, amused by his floundering.

He finally found his voice. "You..." He cleared his throat. "I have never met a woman who would dare address a man so unashamedly."

I shrugged, unoffended. "You just did, Monsieur."

I moved to the side, assuming that we had come to a mutual agreement of indifference to one another. Surely, he would leave me be after I spoke so rudely.

Again, he surprised me. "All right, _Mademoiselle_." He grasped my wrist, but did not release it as he had before. He inclined his head toward me, lessening the distance between us, and I might have been frightened had it been any other man. "Allow me to make a deal with you."

I raised a brow mockingly. "Oh?"

He looked at me challengingly, contorting his face into an entirely new expression and discarding the stereotypical upper-class air he sported minutes earlier.

It would be untruthful of me to say that the change did not at all appeal to me.

"There will be another meeting at the Musain tomorrow evening. I expect you to be in attendance."

I opened my mouth to refuse outright, but he held up a finger.

"I will deliver another speech, to which you will listen intently - do not look at me like that! You will listen, and afterward, you will inform me of whether or not your opinion of me has been altered."

I grinned at his foolishness. "What makes you think that I will conform to this will of yours? I could make far better use of my time."

He visibly fought to keep his expression neutral. I could not tell whether he wanted to laugh or simply glare. "What can I offer you in exchange?"

I was prepared to laugh in his face and walk away, proud to verbally triumph over a man of higher class, when I remembered the meager five francs in my pocket and the darkness slowly pressing in. Under any other circumstances, I would have rejected his proposal without a thought. I was far too proud to put a price on my presence.

But my circumstances were not exactly normal that evening, and the sun was setting rapidly, casting dark shadows across the features of the strange man before me. I fought with myself briefly before huffing in defeat.

"Ten francs," I mumbled quietly.

"Come again?"

I raised my head, feigning confidence in my request. "Ten francs or nothing, Monsieur."

Enjolras immediately plunged his hand into the pocket of his coat, pulling ten francs out of it almost proudly. I reached for them, not wanting to prolong the exchange, but he held them out of my reach.

I glowered. What else could he possibly want?

He held his free hand out to me. "Shake on it."

I scoffed at him. "A handshake solidifies nothing."

He raised his brow at me, keeping his hand outstretched.

A moment more and I sighed in exasperation, nearly slapping my hand into his. I pulled away just as quickly.

Enjolras smirked triumphantly, finally allowing the corners of his mouth to lift for the first time since I met him. "Tomorrow, then, Mademoiselle Éponine."

I nodded grimly, pocketing my profit. Oh, what I would give to wipe that smirk from his face. Somehow, it was far more infuriating than any smirk Montparnasse ever gave me.

I gave the man before me one last look of disdain before parting. I did not think it possible to dislike a person as strongly as I did him after only one meeting, and yet I was bound on my honor to meet him again.

I could not will the scowl from my features, and I felt his gaze burn into my back as I began my trek to the Pont Saint-Michel.

* * *

The first thing I perceived upon approaching home was a silhouette in the dimming light of the doorway, too feminine to be Père's, too small to be Mère's.

I grinned. "Quoi de neuf, 'Zelma?"

I could scarcely see my sister's face in the darkness, but I knew her expression matched my own. She dashed toward me, meeting me halfway and throwing her scrawny arms around my neck.

"Oh, 'Ponine," she spoke into my shoulder. "Mère told me. She told me what happened."

I curled my own arms around her waist, resting my cheek on her hair affectionately. "Not to worry. No damage done."

I hated for Azelma to fear for me. She had enough to fear for herself.

She pulled away and eyed the new bruises on my face. "No damage done, eh?"

I slung an arm around her shoulder and began to guide her back to the door. "No more than usual. Honestly, 'Zel, it was nothing out of the ordinary. I am fine."

The concern did not leave her features. "I know you want to be the brave one, 'Ponine, but I really wish that you would let me take the beating for you every once in a while. I know you go out of your way to take both our shares."

"I do not do anything that is not my will. It is nothing."

She held me back by the arm when we reached the threshold. I raised a brow at her questioningly.

"Mère also told me that you would need money. Did you-"

Azelma halted mid-sentence as I pulled my fifteen-franc profit from my dress. Her eyes were wide.

"You made that in a matter of a few hours?" she asked disbelievingly. Her expression then dropped. She spoke gravely, "Éponine, you did not go to a bro-"

I rolled my eyes and cut her off. "No, Azelma, I did nothing dishonorable." I paused. "Well, nothing more dishonorable than some innocent pickpocketing."

She let out a breath of relief, releasing her grip on my arm. She shook her head at me, chuckling. "I do not know how you do it. One of these days, you need to teach me the secret to your skill."

I gave her a crooked grin. Little did my sister know that none of my income that day was the direct product of any kind of theft.

"There you are!" My mother came bustling toward the two of us and hurriedly pulled us inside. She held my shoulder roughly. "I sure hope for your sake that you made some money today, girl."

I put the francs into her hand. She counted them quickly, and her eyebrows rose in surprise. She counted them once more before glancing at me appreciatively.

"Well then." She cackled softly and nicked my chin with her knuckle. "You got your knack from me, remember that. To bed now, both of you."

I looked to her hopefully. "You will give that to Père for me?"

She snorted at me. "You want to be skinned and thrown to the beggars?"

I shook my head frantically.

She nodded. "Then off to bed, you two. And get out of this flat before your father wakes tomorrow, you hear?"

My sister and I nodded, and our mother retreated to the back room, fifteen francs in hand.

My shoulders slumped, and I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. I would not have to face my father that night. "Considering the commotion that went on earlier, that all seemed too easy."

"Do not question it." Azelma grabbed my sleeve, pulling me to the straw mat in the corner. "You heard Mère. To bed with us. If we are lucky, we might not have to see Père at all tomorrow."

I felt my heart droop at her words. There was a time when I treasured every moment passed with my father, when I loved and cherished his company. It was a shame that the best I could now do for our relationship was avoid him entirely.

I shook off my melancholy, climbing onto the mat beside my sister. I threw an arm over her small body, doing what I could to shield her from the draft. The dry straw dug into my flesh unpleasantly, pestering my wounds, but I did not mind. I was accustomed to the feeling. I was overjoyed just to be indoors, away from the dangers of the streets.

Azelma stirred. "'Ponine?"

"Hm?"

"You were with Monsieur Marius today, were you not?"

I felt my face warm. Azelma's back was to me, and I was glad she could not see me blush. "Why would you ask that?"

She snickered. "You were far too happy to have been pickpocketing _all_ afternoon."

I pulled a lock of her hair playfully. "Hush, brat."

She laughed softly, squeezing my hand. We resumed silence, and soon the slow rhythm of her breathing told me that my sister had fallen asleep. I kissed the back of her head gently.

In all the world, there were only two things of which I was sure of my love: my sister and Marius Pontmercy.

Little did I know that this number was bound to increase. It would increase far more quickly than I ever expected.

* * *

Chapter 1 Word Count: 4,026

Some of you are probably a little surprised by 'Ponine's response to Enjolras. But really, does she strike you as the type of girl to warm up to every bourgeois she comes across? I'm just trying to be realistic here.

By the way, if you guys could leave me some good Enjolras/Éponine fic suggestions in your reviews, I would be elated. I have very little time to browse the category, but I would love to read and review any story you throw at me. Thanks again, guys.


	3. Chapter 2

Good Lord, I love you people. Thank you so, so, so much for your reviews, as well as favorites and alerts. You all make me so happy.

Speaking of reviews, I asked you all to leave me some good E/É recommendations in them, and I was beyond impressed. It is thanks to you guys that I have been able to have hours upon hours of reading entertainment. I have to say that one of my favorites that a few of you mentioned was Silver Pavements by CAdreaming555. Guys, she is just so brilliant. If you haven't read SP yet, go check it out. I can assure you that you will not be disappointed. Also, check out Concetta's Our Little Lives if you haven't already. Again, absolutely brilliant. The talent on this site truly amazes me.

And now, I present to you Chapter 2.

* * *

"How much?"

I looked up to behold the man who addressed me. He stood with a crooked posture, his eyes bloodshot and yellow with teeth to match. He looked ragged, as though he had walked right out of an alehouse brawl, and his scraggly hair grayed at the roots in a way that reminded me of Père's. The man emanated putridity, both physically and morally. I tried not to wrinkle my nose as I perceived the scent of whiskey on his stale breath.

I folded my arms, retaining a casual stance. I leaned against the wall of the decrepit structure behind me and concentrated on keeping my voice even. "My price depends upon the service you request, Monsieur."

The man's eyes raked over my form from chest to toe several times. I suppressed a shudder.

He leered at me, his crooked smirk contorting his features. "I'll take all I can get for five."

I hesitated but eventually pushed away from the wall, motioning for the man to follow me. The hairs on my neck rose warningly as I heard his footfalls behind my own, but I faced forward and swallowed thickly.

_You have no other choice, 'Ponine. Money does not earn itself_.

I tried to stay calm as I discreetly turned into the alleyway I had predestined for the act, but the man was more voracious than I initially thought. I had hardly taken two steps into the dark cranny when he was upon me, forcefully pushing me against the wall and pinning my wrists at my sides. I struggled, acting on instinct, but a girl was no match for a man. He overpowered me.

His filthy lips were everywhere. His hands roamed my body without reservation, giving me a sensation not unlike that of suffocating, and suddenly I was panicking. It was not supposed to progress this far, this quickly, for this long.

I inhaled sharply, readying my breath to scream, when the man's actions stilled and he fell to the ground with a groan of pain. In his place stood Montparnasse, clutching a piece of disused metal railing.

Well, it was _about time_.

I glared, pressing a hand to my chest as I attempted to steady my breathing. "What in God's name _took you so long_? What happened to the ten-second agreement?"

Montparnasse looked positively unconcerned. He shrugged, brushing nonexistent dust from his expensive attire. "Took you longer than that to reign in a customer. My mind wandered." He observed my reaction critically. "You know, you are far too innocent for your own good."

I might have strangled him then and there had my terror not been lingering. I settled for glaring murderously as I knelt to loot our victim.

"This had better be worth it," I muttered, emitting a small "Aha!" when I finally located the pocket in which the man evidently kept his financial store. I managed to steady my quivering hands as I accounted for the value of our prize.

I smiled shakily to myself as I counted. Montparnasse saw this and knew its meaning - a good haul.

"I get three parts, you get one."

My head snapped back to glower at him from my lower position. "Nonsense. One and one."

He cocked a brow at me. "I did the work."

"I lured him."

"I hindered him."

"I _was kissed_ by him," I spat. "Did you see that waste disposal pit where his mouth should be?"

Montparnasse paused, eyeing the body of the unconscious man curiously. He gingerly nudged the toe of his boot against the man's upper lip to expose his decaying teeth and grimaced at the sight. "Fair enough. I get three parts, you get two."

"'Parnasse," I hissed.

He scowled, pushing his sleek hair from his brow impatiently. "Really, 'Ponine, you act as though you could have done it without me. I even complied with your petition that I not execute our victim."

I surveyed the man before me and felt my expression soften in defeat. Yes, I despised him, and yes, I deserved an equal portion of our profit, but in all honesty, I was creditably lucky that he even consented to assisting me in my business venture. No other man would have. It was probably best that I cut my losses and take that which he offered, for it was true - I could not have procured any profit, fractional or not, without him.

And besides that, I had an appointment to make. I could not persist in our negotiations for much longer.

I sighed and stood, dividing the francs I had lifted from the man's outer coat. I begrudgingly handed two-thirds of the sum to my accomplice.

Montparnasse counted his cut and nodded to himself, satisfied. "I do not know why this is not your first choice of business, 'Ponine. It produces far more in compensation than that petty pickpocketing you do."

I pocketed my own share. "I abstain from playing this ruse on a frequent basis because it attracts _this_," I replied, using my foot to prod our prey, who remained prostrate on the ground. "You would do the same were you in my position."

He smirked at me wickedly and dared to chuckle. "But I will never be unfortunate enough to take up your position, will I?" My glowering was his only answer, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, woman. I was merely stating the truth."

I rolled my eyes. I had had enough of Montparnasse for the day. "Forget it," I said. I began to walk back toward the main street, calling over my shoulder, "If you happen upon my sister, inform her that I have acquired the payment required of both of us. She need not seek profit today."

"So this payment is now a daily requirement?" Montparnasse's voice followed me. He had not taken my queue to leave me be, and he now walked by my side into the street.

I walked faster. His company was not a good omen. "Not necessarily, but I think it best to take all precautions. There is no telling when my father will have an especially bad night. He has been worsening as of late."

He had the audacity to laugh. "I must have put him into quite the mood yesterday, did I not? I might have sworn that it was the last time I would see you alive-"

"Then why did you leave?" I snapped, stopping in my tracks to meet his eyes.

Montparnasse halted as well, his brows raised in surprise at my sudden indignation. After several awkward seconds, he settled on another laugh, though this one was less genuine. "What is it to me if your father ends your sorry life? I put no dependence of mine in you."

I stared at him disbelievingly. I knew of what Montparnasse had become in his latest years - the immoral traits he had acquired, the evil acts he had committed - so why should I have been surprised at his answer? I knew well that the man who stood before me was not the boy with whom I shared the better part of my childhood. I should not have reserved any kind feelings for him.

I suppose the nostalgic part of me urged me to hope, to hold on to that boy who taught me the ways of the Parisian streets. He had been my companion, my guiding light for years, and naturally I mourned him and what he had become. It truly was a great shame.

I shook my head, chiding myself for keeping even the smallest trace of faith in him. "Forget I asked. It was foolish of me to think..." I trailed off, unsure of how to conclude. I could only manage to shake my head once more.

Montparnasse opened his mouth, ready to take advantage of my loss for words, when another tone pierced the air.

Church bells. It was five o' clock.

I was late.

As much as I dreaded meeting my verbal opponent from the day before, I took pride in being a woman of my word. I had to attend that meeting.

_And_, I mentally noted, _Marius will likely be in attendance as well._

With that thought, I made to rush in the direction of the Seine, but I was pulled back roughly by a hand on my arm. I turned to glare at Montparnasse.

"Let me go, 'Parnasse. I have business that does not concern you."

He scoffed at me. "What kind of business could you have outside of this end of the city?" He shook me, as if to emphasize the point that I was going nowhere. "Besides, we are not quite finished with our business here." He made a subtle motion to a dirty, shabbily-dressed man across the street who appeared to be eyeing me with interest.

"_No_, 'Parnasse. I am done here," I insisted, trying in vain to remove his hand from me. I hissed quietly in pain when his grip tightened. It would certainly bruise.

"Listen closely, woman," he said, keeping his voice low as to not draw any unwanted attention. "I am not asking you for your assistance. I am demanding it. If it were not for me, you would again be under the threat of a night on the streets this evening, would you not?" My bitter glare was his only answer. He shook me again. "You _owe_ me. Do as I say, or I will be forced to..."

He did not need to finish his threat verbally. I could see his free hand move to rest on his hip, where he kept his blade. We both knew his meaning.

I scoffed at him, desperate to appear brave in the face of retribution. "You think that I will succumb to your threats now? I have been subjected to worse than what punishment you are capable of inflicting, 'Parnasse. I do not fear you."

Only half of my statement was true, but I stood my ground. Montparnasse had never actually brought physical harm to me outside of a few group beatings by the Patron-Minette ordered by my father when I got sassy; however, I would not be surprised if he took up the practice, assisted by his gang or not.

He raised a brow at my challenge. "Perhaps you would feel differently if I said that I would alert your father to your refusal. Monsieur Thénardier is not one to appreciate a lost opportunity for profit. I might even push him to the point of repeating last night's incident if you are so audacious," he threatened, leaning forward to tower over me menacingly.

I glared at him, internally torn. Beatings I could handle - I had already taken so many - but I was not ready for a night on the streets or in the brothel. Montparnasse knew this. Those places presented entirely new breeds of danger.

"_Fine_." My shoulders slumped, defeated. "Fine, 'Parnasse, just..." I gestured toward a nearby alley. "Just follow the same routine as before."

He pulled back with a pleased smirk. "I knew you would see it my way," he said proudly as he began to slink toward the designated alleyway. He turned back to me briefly to warn, "Do not act as slowly as last time. I do not wish to age while waiting for you."

I scowled. "Speak for yourself," I muttered as he moved from my range of hearing.

I waited a solid ten seconds after he disappeared between the buildings before bolting up the street in the opposite direction. My feet beat against the cobblestones, desperately retreating from Montparnasse and our potential victim. I would pay for this abandonment later, but I did not mind a bit of consequence in this case. It would be worth keeping my word and seeing Marius.

I had to admit that I felt somewhat clever. I laughed a little breathlessly as I broadened the distance between myself and my once-friend. Rebelliousness was an elating feeling.

* * *

I was panting from the exertion of my run when I arrived at the Café Musain. I stopped before the door, fanning my flushed face in an effort to resume my normal appearance. A gasping, scarlet-skinned girl slipping into the meeting would be far more conspicuous than I intended.

The rhythm of my pulse eventually slowed and I straightened my posture, gathering what confidence I could before pushing through the door. Again, my worries of drawing attention to myself were unnecessary, as all the students present stood as they had the day before: in silence, facing the back of the room where their leader was speaking. They were in awe of him, their eyes glazed over.

I hoped that Enjolras had not noticed my absence beforehand. Perhaps I could still play the farce that I had been present from start to finish. I moved from the doorway to find the place in which I had stood at the last meeting, and upon finding my position by the right window, I was delighted to see that another already occupied the space.

"Monsieur Marius," I whispered in greeting, giving him a slight smile.

Marius looked to me, pleasant surprise evident in his boyish features. He grinned. "'Ponine," he whispered back. He touched my arm lightly, and I felt my own grin widen. "I am glad you decided to return."

All I could manage was a happy nod as he turned back to listen to our lecturer. It took me a few minutes more of near giddy joy to come to my senses and move my own attention from the man by my side to the one for whom I was there in the first place.

* * *

To say I was in a foul mood by the time Enjolras concluded would be an understatement. My frustration almost exceeded that of the day before, but not because his message disturbed me. No, not in the least.

I huffed in vexation. The man was _brilliant_.

I had challenged his skills after our first meeting under the pretense that he was just another arrogant bourgeois, flaunting his wealth and power through public patronization. In truth, I had only heard him speak for just over a minute when I stormed from the building that day. I did not infer from what little I had heard that he was in any way exceptionally talented.

Today was different. I had the opportunity to listen to Enjolras, _really_ listen, as he proclaimed his ideals and plans for the future. Yes, he managed to litter his oration with a few arrogant statements, but it was apparent that his intentions were noble and his will undoubtedly good. His message was a far cry from that which I originally thought it to be.

Then I realized with a fright that he could have been talking of pigeon dung and I would have been convinced of his words - he was just that skilled.

Damn. That was a problem. I was a Thénardier, and it was in my nature to never admit defeat. I had nearly butchered the man with accusations of hypocrisy only twenty and four hours prior; I certainly could not turn soft and go about praising him now, even if he did possess a rare mind and talent. I honestly would have slit my own wrists before doing so.

So how was I to address him? Enjolras was sure to saunter over to me at some point, inquiring of my opinion. He had said he would. I looked around nervously, hoping that he had not chosen that particular moment to do so.

Marius sensed my distress. He chuckled at my expression, and I cursed myself for allowing my emotions to show so blatantly. "Something wrong, 'Ponine? You appear very disconcerted all of a sudden."

I gave him a smile that did not meet my eyes. Half of my mind paid him no heed, trying to calculate a plan of action that would best protect my pride. I shifted from foot to foot nervously as I realized that Enjolras was now out of my sight, having blended into the mass of students. "Just fine, Monsieur."

He noticed my eyes wander in the space behind him. Curious, he attempted to follow my gaze as I kept watch for a glint of golden hair in our crowded quarters, somewhere among the students now milling about, but, unable to perceive what I sought, he turned to me once again, changing the topic. "Enjolras is a phenomenal orator, is he not?"

As if I needed reminding.

I answered by laughing lightly, hoping that it did not sound fake. "Well, he definitely uses some fancy words," I replied.

I berated myself as I debated how to act. If I stayed, he would certainly question me, and I had no earthly idea of how to answer without inflating his ego and damaging my own. Damaging my self esteem was simply not an option. Maybe, I thought, I should just leave, as I had done yesterday. No one would notice if I did so immediately.

_Damn it, Éponine, why did you even come? You do not truly owe the man. Ten francs was nothing to him._

I gave up my search for the man who occupied my thoughts. It was a small café; he could not be far from where I stood. With that thought, I came to a resolution: yes, I would play the coward and run. How much worse could that be than admitting my wrong judgement?

I opened my mouth to excuse myself, intending to at least offer Marius a kind word of parting before making a run for it and vowing to never revisit the establishment, when I was abruptly cut off before I could begin.

"Marius, you were late."

My shoulders tensed as Enjolras's voice traveled from behind me, over my shoulder to address my companion. He was standing at my back, I realized. I refused to turn and meet his eyes, although I knew this final effort of avoidance was useless - Enjolras did not need to see my face to know that I was the girl who stood before him.

Marius smirked amusedly at his peer. "My apologies, Enjolras, but you know how we Bonapartists are!"

I could almost feel Enjolras roll his eyes mere inches behind me. "Do not even prompt me to that subject, Pontmercy."

Despite his friend's solemn tone, Marius laughed in good humor. "Again, I apologize, my friend." He smirked mischievously as his eyes flicked to me. "But you cannot say that I was the tardiest of your audience this evening."

Oh, Marius, _why_?

I looked down to my feet as my cover was effectively blown.

"Ah, yes." Marius was suddenly forgotten as Enjolras moved from my back to look down to me. I inhaled deeply, gathering what I could of my fleeting composure, and willed my eyes to meet his.

Looking at Enjolras was so different from gazing at Marius. Marius's cool green eyes had a way of putting me at ease, of comforting me in an instant. Enjolras's, however, drowned me in a storm of blue and gray that quickened my pulse. His gaze set every one of my nerves on end, and it was extremely disconcerting. It was a wonder I could produce words coherently under his survey.

I willed these thoughts aside as I attempted a dauntless tone. "Monsieur," I greeted him, just as coldly as I had the day prior.

He raised a brow at my boldness. "Mademoiselle. Was there a sufficient reason for your laggard entrance?"

I pondered a few solid excuses before forsaking caution. My answer would certainly irritate him, but who was I to care what he thought of me? Marius was the only bourgeois I would ever care to please.

I feigned nonchalance as I shrugged, even daring a brash smirk. "No, Monsieur. No reason at all."

I made a conscious effort to keep from laughing aloud as his eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline altogether. Marius held no such reservation, however, and I heard him laugh outright at the manner in which I addressed his friend. My smirk widened.

Enjolras resumed his usual calm air in a second, but the surprise at my uncaring attitude did not leave his eyes. "Is that so? Then I must say I am highly unimpressed by your sense of duty."

I shrugged again. "What can I say? At least I chose to come at all."

He looked more displeased the longer we conversed. I inwardly hoped that my unpleasant company would drive him away before he could make any inquiry of my thoughts.

"Well, Mademoiselle, I suppose there is only one way in which you may make amends for your incomplete attendance."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Enlighten me."

"Why, Mademoiselle, you must attend a full meeting!"

What? No.

All amusement dropped from my face, and Marius saw this as a sign to excuse himself from the conversation. "I believe I will leave this verbal spar to the pair of you. It looks to be getting somewhat dangerous," he remarked, chuckling to himself as he left us to find more cheerful company.

_Smart man_, I thought.

I placed a hand on my hip. "Monsieur, really, you cannot expect me to attend yet another of your conferences. The fact that I was absent for the first half of your address does not mean that it was completely lost to me."

"Oh really?"

"_Yes_, really."

"Then I implore you," he began, suddenly pulling two chairs from the table to his right, "divulge to me the quality of my oration from your unique perspective."

He then lowered himself to sit in one of the said chairs, gesturing for me to do the same. I hesitated, clasping my hands together to prevent myself from fidgeting.

"... Is a formal briefing really necessary?" I questioned, dreading to hold prolonged conversation with a man who seemed bent on proving me wrong.

Enjolras did not miss a beat. "Absolutely. You have not yet buffeted me with criticism as you did yesterday, so I assume that I have in some way improved, in either language or meaning, in the past four and twenty hours. For the sake of learning, you must tell me how so."

I inwardly cringed. _Oh, Éponine, why did you land yourself in this situation_?

Seeing no alternative, I very slowly, very gingerly lowered myself into the seat he indicated. I met my opponent's eyes defiantly, folding my hands in my lap and bracing myself for a very painful interview.

"So, Mademoiselle -"

"Stop calling me that," I snapped venomously.

Enjolras pursed his lips, clearly disapproving of my manners.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Sorry, sorry, I just... I am sorry. May I just ask that you drop the titular formalities? Nobody else uses them with me. It sounds wrong to my ears."

He nodded thoughtfully. "If that is your wish, but I expect you to do the same. I will speak to you only as an equal."

I raised a brow at him but did not question him further, although I doubted I could ever address him informally. He was too obviously above my class, and it seemed only his friends called him nothing more than "Enjolras".

"Now that that is settled..." Enjolras leaned forward minimally, one elbow resting on the tabletop. I pressed my back into the frame of my chair. "It is time for you to fulfill your part of our agreement."

I hesitantly nodded. There was nothing more I could do to evade it. "Right then." No presentable words immediately came to mind, and I looked to my entwined hands momentarily. "Er... Upon what point exactly would you like me to expound?"

"My speech," he spoke slowly, mockingly, as if I were stupid. He was becoming impatient with my reluctance.

I gave him a wry look. "Well, I had no idea. Yes, I _know_ the speech, but what aspect of it? Your speaking style, your message, the magnitude of your ego as compared to your vocabulary...?"

He chose to ignore my last jibe. "All of it. Reflect upon the good, the bad - everything."

I almost groaned in frustration. How long did this insolent man wish to keep me? I leveled him with a warning look. "I caution you now, Monsieur -"

"Stop calling me that," he said cheekily, repeating my words from earlier.

I exhaled through my nose, willing away the sass that was dying to be conveyed. "I caution you now that you are asking for my honest opinion, and you may not be flattered by what you hear."

It was only fractional, but he leaned forward a little farther, increasing my discomfort. I was sure that he thought nothing of our proximity, but I was not so used to being near or interacting with bourgeoisie other than Marius.

"I am prepared to accept all comments and criticism you may proffer, if not with a bit of argument."

"All right, then," I said, hoping he did not notice how my voice involuntarily rose an octave. I bit my bottom lip lightly. Where to begin? "Well, to start..." I fought within myself for a moment before allowing, "In all truth, I can conclude from what I have gathered in my last two meetings with you that you were... better today than yesterday."

His lips twitched at my admission, as if he were amused by my confession but could not bring himself to show it. "Oh?" he questioned. "How so?"

My eyes left his as I scrambled for an answer that would not be perceived as contradictory to any of my previous statements. "I commend you on the fact that you did not use your skills as an orator to lift yourself by the degradation of those below you. That was the greatest grudge I could hold to you after our last meeting."

His brow furrowed. "In what way have I degraded anyone, yesterday or any other day? I believe myself to have accomplished the opposite."

"You must understand that although your words, if not entirely arrogant, hold a noble strength and good intention, they mean nothing if not translated into visible action. Without action, they are merely pity." I spoke the last word with bitterness on my tongue.

He spoke haughtily, "I assure you that I take far more action in furthering the cause of the Parisian poor than most other citizens."

It was my turn to inquire, "How so?"

"To begin, I must bring to your attention that merely being present here and speaking on behalf of the impoverished to my peers and audience is a contribution of action in itself."

_False._

"In addition to this, the sum of monetary donations to the less fortunate supplied by myself and the men here may surmount even that of a Catholic mass collection," he stated proudly.

_Not action._

"And I am sure that you, as well as all of Paris, have been witness to the student-led rallies that now occur on an almost frequent basis."

I folded my arms. "So your definition of action is a group of students flaunting their monetary assets and ascending a stage to shout nonsense to a crowd? I apologize for my candidness, but those rallies of yours only serve to put the people into haphazard frenzy."

He raised his finger, as if to emphasize his next claim. "There is no frenzy. It raises their spirits. We give those struck down by despair a vision in which they may believe, a future to which they may look with high hopes."

"What use is spirit to the homeless and starving? It brings no food or shelter."

"The appeasement of Paris's homeless and starving is an extraordinary political change to be realized. I believe the step to this appeasement that you are personally blind to is the spirit of change. What poor man can be saved who does not believe salvation possible? What starving family can be fed that believes there is no food to consume?"

I did not answer.

"Until the Parisian population believes itself savable, until they see that change and appeasement is possible, it cannot be accomplished." A spark of excitement not reflected in his face ignited in his eyes as he continued, "This is why we work constantly to show them that we are ready achieve their betterment. We see to it that our intentions are portrayed by our deeds. You see, this group, this student organization gathered here this evening, serves the sole purpose of the transference of good will to actions. Your statement that I speak empty words devoid of action is inadequate, for we," he motioned to the men around us, "_are_ action."

"You are wrong, Monsieur."

The building passion was extinguished and replaced with questioning indignation at my simple statement. "I fear I disagree. And I commanded that you not call me Mon-"

"But you are _wrong_," I exclaimed, my own temper flaring. I did nothing to stop it now. "You are a hypocrite, Monsieur. You all are if you claim to fight and take action for us while you go about living as you do. You know _nothing_. Have you ever experienced the sensation of starving? Have you ever been forced to pass a night in the gutter? This action that you claim to be taking is illegitimate because you do not even know what you take action for!" My breathing was unsteady, offset by my outburst. I kept my voice low and even so as to not call to myself any attention besides Enjolras's, but the sheer animosity in it caused my pulse to become unsteady. "You cannot fight without knowing for whom you take up arms. Your cause is lost without understanding, and your pride and arrogance are the only fuel for your ambition. The poor appreciate the acknowledgement of a need for change, but if you plan to take no action to change it, if all you can offer is your _pity_..." I paused, making a last attempt to calm myself. "Then forget it. We would rather be cold, homeless, and starving than looked down upon by the likes of you and your upper class."

Enjolras now gazed upon me in a way not unlike that in which a researcher observes an animal, angry, provoked, and impassioned. I could see him study me, his eyes passing over my face, as if he were again meeting me for the very first time. I was an entirely new creature to him. The din of the café continued around us, but it was nothing to the pair of us, our eyes locked unwaveringly.

Seconds that seemed minutes that seemed hours passed before he ventured to address me again. I was surprised by how softly he spoke to me, "Mademoiselle... Éponine, I -"

Suddenly I was exhausted. The previous two days seemed to affect me all at once, and I was done - done with my father, done with society, done with this café, and done with the man before me.

I abruptly stood. "... Excuse me," I muttered tiredly, unsure if I were excusing my rash words or my exit. I promptly turned to leave, and Enjolras was too stunned by my emotional bipolarity to stop me.

I burst through the doors of the Musain, grateful for the chill that met my fevered skin. I never intended to allow myself to reach such a degree of indignant anger with Enjolras - he only wanted my opinion after all - but something about that man and his logic heightened my emotions in a way I could not anticipate if I were to try. It was as if all barriers I had built for the specific purpose of maintaining a neutral guise were nothing to him.

Admittedly, that frightened me more than returning to my father that night.

Then, I was sure, I would never venture to return to the Café Musain, regardless of whether Marius were there or not.

I began a brisk walk in the direction of the Seine, grasping my arms as the cool air settled into my skin. I had hardly walked ten steps, however, when I perceived something, or rather, someone lurking in my peripheral vision. My thoughts ceased and my gaze lingered, and when our eyes met, my blood froze in my veins.

How did he know I was here?

Loitering near the door of a closed establishment nearby was Montparnasse, eyeing me challengingly with poison in his glare. His hand rested on his hip, where his blade was hitched into his belt. He began to walk toward me.

I gulped. Had he followed me? Perhaps my earlier disappearing act was not as clever an idea as I had thought. Physical punishment did not seem a consequence to be overly feared at the time, but now a shiver of dread ran up my spine. I almost began to panic, caught in a moment of indecision and fear, when I was saved by another's intervention.

"Éponine!"

I knew the voice, and never had I thought that I would be glad to hear it. I turned around to face the direction from whence it came, toward the café, to see Enjolras striding toward me. I felt such relief that for a moment, I thought I might be hallucinating. I almost expected his appearance less than Montparnasse's.

Montparnasse had not yet reached me, and I saw him slip into the darkness of an alleyway, eyeing the man walking toward me. I did not miss the look of sinister warning he gave me before disappearing from my sight. I looked back to Enjolras, who came to a halt before me, to see that he evidently had not missed it either.

He raised a brow at me. "Someone you know?"

I hugged my arms tighter around my waistline, biting my lip anxiously. "I wish I did not know him."

He nodded, understanding but not questioning any further. We stood in silence for a few moments, and I wandered why on earth he followed me from the meeting if he was suddenly too sheepish to speak. I readied myself to inquire of his motives or tell him to leave me be, but he spoke first.

"Allow me to escort you from here - to the Seine, at least."

He wished to see that I went unharmed by Montparnasse on my walk. The intent was unspoken but certain.

Perhaps he was a decent man after all.

Enjolras was definitely not my first choice of company for an evening stroll, but I was not prideful enough to reject his offer at the expense of my safety. I managed to nod, and we were on our way. His steps matched mine, and we walked without speaking toward the Pont Saint-Michel. Aside from the noise of lingering civilians, all was silent. It was difficult to believe that only minutes before, we had been caught in heated argument.

A day before, when I walked with Marius and Combeferre from the Panthéon, I had felt awkward, out of place, a walking imperfection between the men on either side of me. Our trek had been enjoyable but uncomfortable on my part.

I was shocked to find that I felt no such sensation with Enjolras by my side. He was visibly superior to me in the eye of society - his clothes said as much - but in the silence that reigned as we walked side-by-side, I valued myself as no lesser than him. He had said it himself: we were equals. I was at ease.

I snuck a glance at my companion's expression from the corner of my eye, but it betrayed neither trouble nor calm. The feeling of guilt suddenly dropped into my stomach, and I fought within myself before coming to a resolution.

I looked to my hands, now clasped loosely in front of me. "Thank you," I said quietly. "Thank you... and I am sorry."

There. I owed him that much.

He cleared his throat. "I accept your apology and offer mine as well."

I nodded. I knew that he did not truly need to apologize, but I was too proud to tell him so.

We walked in silence for a few seconds more before he spoke, "I followed you from the café to ask one last question of you. Would you permit it?"

I hesitated but nodded slowly.

"Now, do not immediately think me mad." I snorted, but he ignored my disrespect. "You spoke of good deeds and actions, and I began to think," he started, then paused. He thought for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was a new passion in his voice.

"What is your opinion of forming a revolution?"

* * *

Chapter 2 Word Count: 5,947

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	4. Chapter 3

Gosh, you guys, I am so sorry. This update has taken ages. I definitely do not deserve all of your wonderful feedback. Over 100 followers – I can't tell you guys how happy that makes me. And, as always, your reviews have been awesome. I try to reply to each of you directly through PM to express my gratitude, but unfortunately many of you review anonymously.

**Tonbotomoe**: Thanks, lovely! I do try to keep everything as realistic as possible. And thanks for the rec.

**Nina**: Good Lord, woman, sign in so I can love you! Seriously, your reviews have been among my favorites since I began this story and I'm bummed that I can't reply to you until my next update. I'm so pumped that someone loves Les Amis here as much as I do. I do love to think that Ep is kind of a pet of theirs and that they're protective of her, but I hate when authors make the relationship among them unrealistic, so please let me know if I am in danger of that. And yes, it was a ruse. I was feeling sneakily clever when I wrote that. ;) Thanks so much for your continued support! It means a lot!

**Guest**: Gah, you're making me blush. Thanks, dear! I hope this next chapter satisfies.

Now, back to our story.

* * *

"What about that one, 'Ponine? Him, over there."

I raised my eyes in the direction Azelma was pointing and shook my head. "No good. See his cravat? It is not silk."

My sister huffed in annoyance. "What reasoning is there in a cravat? He looks rich enough to me."

I rested my chin on my fist and my elbow on my knee, sighing tiredly. As I looked on from my seat on the steps of the Panthéon, I willed my patience to spread to my sister. Seeing as Père's nightly rages were becoming more frequent, I took it upon myself to make Azelma my pupil for the day, teaching her the more effective ways of making money on the streets, but her restlessness had earned us no success thus far. My efforts were proving rather fruitless.

Exasperated, she crossed her arms over her chest and moved to stand directly in front of me, casting her shadow over my form. "How you manage to make any profit is beyond me when you insist on sitting on your bum until Louis Philippe himself comes along. Is choosing a victim really that intricate a process?"

Having someone physically talk down to me was a personal vexation of mine, so I stood to meet her eyes, lifting myself from the step and brushing dust from my skirt. "There is a fine line between the clever and the explicitly criminal. If we were to rob that man of his belongings, there is no telling the extent of the financial impact it would have on him. Judging by his apparel, he could be wealthy, but he could also be well off only by what little he has in his pocket and day-to-day wages. In that case, it would be better not to deprive him of that."

Azelma clearly did not appreciate my reasoning. She rolled her eyes, and mine narrowed.

"I am being completely serious, 'Zel. Thieving a man's means of living is different from taking that of luxury. It is a different kind of damage, the kind that criminals like Montparnasse and the Patron-Minette inflict. Not us. We do not sink so low."

Again Azelma rolled her eyes, placing her hands firmly on her hips. "Montparnasse seems to be doing well for himself, if you ask me."

I shook my head and said nothing more, not wanting to think of the man whose threat to my physical wellbeing hovered constantly in my mind. It had been four days since my sighting of him outside the Musain, and I was fortunate enough to have not seen him since.

It had also been four days since I last saw Marius - four days since I had seen Enjolras.

I was not entirely sure how I felt about this. I definitely felt no sadness or loss, but then again, I could not say that I felt nearly as liberated as I had expected. He was out of my life for the moment, or even permanently if I truly wished it. After our unpleasant exchange and biting words, one would think that I would be ecstatic to be under no further obligation to see the pompous man, but, if I were to be honest with myself, for some inexplicable reason, I had not expected him to flit in and out of my life just as quickly and unnoticeably as so many acquaintances before him.

But then I recalled his talk of revolution in our final moments, and the feeling was gone. Why would I ever wish to be continually associated with such a radical? The man was an idiot.

_There_. I suddenly caught sight of a man in the flow of Parisians before us whose noble brow, golden chain, and fine clothes signified excessive wealth - a target.

I tugged on Azelma's sleeve. "Look there, 'Zel. No, no, to your right." I tried to direct her gaze to where my own rested. "Yes, _there_."

She snorted. "Oh, I am not sure, 'Ponine. His only means of living could rest solely in his pocket," she mocked, imitating my slightly deeper tone.

I scowled. "Do you want money or not? Listen to me." I grasped her shoulders and spoke in a hurried and hushed voice. "Now, when you approach him, remember to first look for the bulge. If you attempt the wrong pocket, you will not be able to pinch at all. There is no second try."

"I know _that_, but how do I-"

"Just listen! When you locate the stash, do just as I instructed when we first arrived. Make sure that you linger directly behind someone, out of sight, until you stri-"

"I am about to lose sight of him!" Azelma shifted from foot to foot anxiously. "Just watch me, all right?"

Before I could say another word, she took off down the steps and into the crowd. I cursed her impatience under my breath and watched nervously from my perch as she navigated her way to her victim. I subconsciously clenched the thin fabric of my skirt in one fist, praying for her success.

Despite my frustration with Azelma, I could not help the smirk that pulled at a corner of my mouth as I watched her slink through the throng of bourgeoisie. No matter the degree of dishonor in our trade, I was proud of my sister.

A few moments more and she was making her way back to me, clutching her prize in a fold of her dress and fighting a proud grin. Although Azelma had assisted in successful scams before, I did not believe that she had ever single-handedly won her own loot prior to that day, and she was very obviously pleased with herself as she halted before me. For a few moments, she simply stood there, looking into my eyes and grinning in a manner not unlike that of a predator successful in killing its prey.

I laughed lightly at her expression. I was happy that there were still some ways in which she could find joy, regardless of whether those means were immoral or not. "Well?" I asked expectantly, mirth in my voice.

Her smile widened even further as she pulled a fine leather carryall from her dress, proudly holding it out to me for inspection. I smirked at her as I perused its contents.

"I must say, 'Zelma, this is remarkable for your first lone pinching attempt. I am rather impressed."

She crossed her arms and laughed haughtily. "And to think you doubted my abilities."

I used the carryall to smack the back of her head playfully. "Check your ego, girl." I then grabbed her hand and began to descend the steps. "Now, this calls for a little celebration! It has been a while since we last had a breakfast, has it not?"

Azelma suddenly stopped, pulling back on my hand. I turned to her questioningly. "As lovely as that sounds, 'Ponine, can we not... I mean, I have only picked one pocket this morning." She gave me a hopeful little grin. "I want to try again."

I raised my brow at her. "But there is no need. You were so lucky with your first attempt that we have more than enough money to last us the day and even tomorrow."

Her hand squirmed in mine. "I know that, but... Éponine, it was _fun_," she said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She bounced on the balls of her feet, itching to plunge back into the masses milling about before us. "Come on, what can it hurt?"

I bit my lip, tightening my grip on her hand in fear that she would defy me and run. "It is an unnecessary risk. I would rather you not take it." I gently placed my free hand over our clasped ones, trying to cleanse her of her sudden adrenaline. "We can even afford white bread with what we have! Can you recall the last time we had such a luxury?"

Azelma huffed, waving my words aside. "You are just worried that I had beginner's luck. You do not think me capable."

I then felt a little guilty. "_No_, Azelma, that is not-"

"Just once more then!" She suddenly ripped her hand from mine, descending the steps before I could make a move to stop her. "I will only be a few moments!" she called over her shoulder.

"_Azelma_," I spoke harshly, but she paid me no heed. My sister was already back in the crowd, too far to pursue.

I groaned in exasperation. The girl had the obedience of a stray alley cat.

All I could do was watch for her. I bit my lip as I followed her path with my eyes. She was a little thing, shorter than myself and almost as scrawny, and she wove through the civilians practically unseen. She was rather skilled in the art of being invisible. We both were.

She faltered in her steps to scan the crowd, and it occurred to me that she had not bothered to designate a victim before acting. Stupid girl.

I wiped the palms of my hands on the front of my dress, suddenly aware that they had broken out in a nervous sweat. I watched as my sister lingered a few moments more, brow furrowed in concentration, before her eyes lit up. She had found a target.

Feeling slight relief, I followed her eyes across her potential path to find whatever person of whom she planned to take advantage. When my gaze finally stilled on whom I presumed to be the victim, my breath caught in my throat. My heart skipped a beat.

Oh, _merde_.

I was flying from the steps without another thought, wrestling my way through the street like a madwoman. Desperate to reach my sister, I felt no shame at the dirty looks and expletives thrown at me. My first priority was to stop Azelma. Good Lord, I _had_ to. What if she were caught?

It felt as if hours passed before she was within sight again, and when I laid eyes on her, my pulse seemed to peak. Her hand was poised to slip into his coat, and he was _right there_.

One last lunge and I had her by the elbow, roughly pulling her back from him and to the opposite side of the street. I closed my eyes momentarily as I widened the distance between us, and a wave of relief swept through me. Only a few seconds more and I would not have arrived in time to avoid incident.

My breathing was heavy, but my grip could not be exhausted even as Azelma wrenched herself backward. "Éponine, what are you _doing_? I almost had hi-"

I whipped around to face her, yanking her toward me and gripping her free arm. I looked her straight in the eyes. "Do _not_ do that to me again, understood?"

Azelma was startled by my tone. "But I only... What did-"

I breathed through my nose, calming myself. In truth, I was not angry with her. I was only panicked by the circumstance. I spoke to her carefully, "'Zel, when you are working with a partner, you do not, under any circumstances, choose a victim without the consent of that partner. All right?"

She was puzzled now. "I do not understand. He looked rich enough. Why would you need..." Her expression changed then, as if she had experienced a sudden revelation. "'Ponine, did you know that man?"

My back stiffened. "How on earth would I come to be acquainted with anyone in such a wealthy district?"

Azelma saw right through me. She smiled devilishly. "You _do_ know him." She grasped my hand excitedly. "Who was he? How did you meet him? He looked so rich, 'Ponine, and he was rather good looking-"

"'Zelma-"

"Does he attend one of the universities nearby? Oh, I bet he is a student. He looked like one! And he was so tall-"

"_Enough_, Azelma." I groaned and rubbed my eyes tiredly. "He is a friend of Marius's, and a rather unpleasant one. That is all."

"All right. Sorry." Her smirk made it clear that she was not sorry at all.

I rolled my eyes. We were definitely done for the day. "We are leaving. No questions."

Azelma held up her hands in surrender, smirk still in place. "Whatever you say."

I felt the sudden urge to slap her. Instead, I grabbed her wrist and made to walk back in the direction of Montmartre.

"Mademoiselle."

I froze. There was _no way_.

I turned very slowly, and by the time I was facing him, I could feel the heat climbing my neck. I heard Azelma gasp softly behind me, and I had to restrain myself from digging my nails into her wrist.

There stood Enjolras, Azelma's potential victim and my political opposite, in all his golden-haired glory.

By then it was instinct for me to scowl in his presence. Despite my growing blush, I raised my chin in his direction, trying to ignore the way the sun's angle seemed to create a halo over his head. "I believe I told you to refrain from calling me that."

He raised a brow at me. "I was not addressing you, _Éponine_, but rather the young mademoiselle behind you." There was cunning wit in his voice, and I wanted to strangle him.

I had nearly forgotten that Azelma was present, and when I turned my head to behold her, she was biting her lip in excitement. "B-bonjour, Monsieur," she managed.

Enjolras gave her a smile that would surely have leagues of women on their knees. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle." He stepped between us and held his hand out to her, acting the gentleman. "I am Enjolras, a friend of Éponine's."

I snorted rather loudly.

I resisted the urge to smack Azelma's hand down as she placed it in his. "Azelma. I am her sister."

"Her sister, are you?" he inquired. "Well, that is a relief. I approached you under the pretense that she was a tyrannical gamine attempting to manhandle you."

I glared at him sharply. "_Excuse me_, Monsieur-"

"_Éponine_."

My glare only deepened. I would _not_ address him informally. "As pleasant as this little encounter has been, we were just leaving. If you will excuse us-"

"Just one moment more," he said curtly, that charming, infuriating smile never leaving his face. Was I the only one who could see how _fake_ it was? He turned to my sister politely. "Mademoiselle Azelma, would you allow me a minute with your sister?"

What? My head snapped in her direction, imploring her with my eyes to refuse.

"Of course!" Unashamed, Azelma gave me an angelic smile. "I will wait for you on the steps, 'Ponine!"

My jaw clenched. "My thanks, Azelma," I ground out.

She turned to Enjolras. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur!" she said sweetly.

He matched her smile. "Likewise, Mademoiselle."

I scowled at her back as she pranced back across the street. Traitor.

"Your sister is not as stealthy as she believes."

I continued to watch after her, not meeting Enjolras's eyes. "What are you talking about?"

He snorted. "Do not feign ignorance. I knew she was on my tail a full minute before you nearly tackled her to the ground."

I crossed my arms indignantly, feeling a stab of pity for my sister. She had been so confident. "She did nothing wrong."

"Thanks to you, she did not."

"What is your business with me?" I asked shortly. I did not intend to hold prolonged conversation with him. "Did you stop me only to chide me for my sister's actions?"

His false smile finally dropped and his eyes left mine. "No." He paused to clear his throat. I waited a few awkward seconds more before he continued, "... How are you, Éponine?"

I raised a brow at him. "I am not in a mood for idle talk. Did you need something?"

He scowled at me. "I was not making idle conversation. I do mean to know how you have been."

He could not be serious. My eyebrows rose even further on my forehead as I looked at him incredulously.

Enjolras regarded me sternly and took a step toward me. I caught myself before I could step back. "Fine. I will speak candidly." He lowered his voice then, and I was surprised at how soft it was when he next spoke, "That man who awaited you outside the café when we last spoke - has he harmed you at all?"

I was startled into silence for a few moments. Had this bourgeois pulled me aside only to inquire of my wellbeing? I was disbelieving.

"I... No, he... What is it to you?" I finally snapped.

He crossed his arms. "Upon sighting you and your sister in the street this morning, it occurred to me that I had not accompanied you past the Seine so many nights ago, despite the fact that I had witnessed a questionable individual watching you from a distance." He moved his hands to his hips, looking conflicted with himself. "I suddenly realized that it was not very chivalrous of me. I needed to assure myself that you were not harmed on account of my actions, or lack thereof."

I blinked at him. Was that all?

My surprise was replaced by spite in a second when I realized his true motive: I was just another opportunity for him to act the charity worker. What a show. I reminded myself to resume a tough but civil facade before answering, "That was very thoughtful of you, but I assure you that I do not need chivalry. Besides, you hold no responsibility for me."

"So no one has accosted you?" he asked earnestly.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Not as of late, no."

His brow furrowed. "Not as of late?" he questioned.

I chose to avoid answering his question in favor of shortening our exchange. "No, I have been well. I thank you for your inquiry." I brushed the hair from my eyes. "Now if you will excuse me, my sister and I must be going."

"One more thing."

"_What_?" I asked impatiently, forgetting my resolution to act politely. What more could he possibly have to say to me?

"Someone has been asking for you at the Musain."

I brightened then, my mind immediately jumping to the man I adored. He had not seen me in nearly a week. Maybe he was wondering about my safety. Perhaps he cared more than I thought? I tried not to be hopeful, but could it possibly be - was Marius asking for me?

"It is not Marius."

I overcame my surprise fast enough to glare at him. "Who said I was thinking of Marius?"

He scoffed. "Please, Éponine. I have seen the pair of you together only twice, and it is apparent even to me that you admire the man boundlessly. The brightening of your features a few moments ago betrayed of whom you were thinking."

I could feel my face flush crimson, and his directness only served to fuel my short temper. "If not Marius, then who? I know no one else who frequents that place."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I believe you might know this one. He saw you exiting the café earlier in the week but was disappointed that he was not quick enough to stop you. The boy said something to the effect of never seeing his sister..."

I stared at Enjolras disbelievingly, slowly realizing that he could only be referring to one person. He could not mean...

"The poor boy was so disheartened that I vowed to bring you back should our paths cross again. Luckily that was sooner than later. Tell me, do you know a Gavroche?"

My heart leapt at my brother's name. Could he really possibly be at the Musain of all places?

I gulped and attempted to mask my joyful hope, not wanting to be disappointed should Enjolras's claim be false. "Are you... His name is Gavroche? Short in stature, dark hair and eyes, about ten years or so?"

Enjolras nodded thoughtfully. "Precisely. In fact, now that you describe him, I must say that he does resemble you."

I wrung my hands together tightly, sending up a silent prayer to whatever god there was that my brother was at least alive. After he had fled our abusive household, Gavroche could not be found, and I was emotionally devastated by his endangerment. I had only been fortunate enough to meet with him once since then, and that was months ago. I had no way of assuring myself of his safety. I could only hope that he would somehow be provided the means to live, and my heart was saddened to think of it. There were many children abandoned to the dangers of the streets, but it was no place for them. It was no place for my brother. He deserved better.

I let out a slow, careful breath. "So he was there? Safe, at the Musain? He was not injured or sick or starving?"

"Of course not," Enjolras said quickly. "Believe it or not, your brother is a regular at the Musain. I see him on a weekly basis at the least." A corner of his mouth turned upward. "I must say, my friends and I are quite fond of him. Rest assured, we see to it that he has the chance to eat his fill whenever we can. I do not think we could stand to see him suffer."

I met his blue eyes, and I was not looking at the same man that I beheld earlier. I would never have guessed...

"Thank you," I said quietly, sincerely. "You and your friends caring for him - it means a great deal to me. More than I am able to express." A strange melancholy had settled over me, and I tried to shake it. "When you see him again, tell him that I miss him, will you?"

He looked at me strangely. "What are you saying? Whatever you wish to convey to your brother you can tell him directly."

I cocked an eyebrow.

His shoulders slumped momentarily at my misunderstanding, as if he could not believe that he had to elaborate for me. "The Café Musain, five o' clock this evening. Gavroche usually makes his appearance after the formal meeting is concluded, about half past six."

My lips parted slightly. After twice enduring my nasty words and unladylike demeanor, he was inviting me back _again_? Both Marius and Gavroche would likely be there, and even _I_ was still unsure of whether or not I wanted me there.

Enjolras looked disapproving at my shocked silence, but I was beginning to think that it was just his permanent expression. "Come or not, it matters not to me, but I will not be a man to prevent the reunion of a family. I will not ask you to endure another speech, but you are welcome to that as well."

I finally broke my silence. "Er... All right. Yes, that is... All right."

_Stupendous, Éponine. The range of your vocabulary is astounding._

Enjolras nodded, seemingly satisfied that his message had been delivered. "Good. I will take my leave then."

I nodded in turn, attempting to redeem myself by matching his professionalism. "Yes. Thank you again, Monsieur."

He turned to leave me, and I released the air I had been subconsciously holding. I could not wait to tell Azelma...

"Oh, and Éponine."

Enjolras had turned back to face me, looking as if he had just remembered something of importance.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Yes?"

His expression was perfectly solemn, but I could almost, just barely detect the lightest hint of humor in his voice as he said, "I am not one to threaten a woman, but call me Monsieur once more and I will be forced to take action."

A short laugh escaped my mouth. "Monsieur, I would be amused to see you try."

Enjolras only turned his back to me once again, shaking his head at my boldness. Perhaps I was thinking optimistically, but I could have sworn that he almost genuinely smiled. _Almost_.

Then I suddenly realized that for some stupid reason, _I_ was smiling. What was that?

I quickly wiped the expression from my face, turning to walk back to where my sister awaited me. Perhaps I would accept Enjolras's generous invitation, just one more time. It was for my brother, after all. No one said that attending would put me under any obligation or bind me to the odd group of students who passed their time there. What could it hurt?

And that was the day that I began my regular attendance of the meetings of Les Amis de l'ABC, the day I began to entangle myself in a conflict that would escalate far past my expectations.

* * *

Chapter 3 Word Count: 4,011

Just so you guys know, this kind of concludes the introductory part of the story. There's about to be a serious time jump in which Ep falls into routine at the Musain among other happenings, but all of that is to come. Rest assured things will pick up quickly from here.

Please review, you guys! Your comments and criticisms mean more than you know. Thanks again for your patience, and keep the recs coming!


	5. Chapter 4

Oh lawd Jesus. How long has it been? Four weeks? Maybe five? All I can say is that if you are a reader who is bearing with me and actually still reading and reviewing, you are the bomb diggity.

Seriously, though, you guys are just great. The response to this story thus far has blown me away, and it truly makes me so, so happy. Thank you. I love this fandom with all my heart, which is why I am updating this at four in the morning. Yeah.

**Before you read:** Be aware that there is a time jump of several months between Chapter 3 and this chapter. Just to avoid confusion and stuff.

Enjoy, lovelies. Chapter 4 is here.

* * *

I was late yet again. For the third time that week, to be exact.

And I knew that no matter how silently or stealthily I slipped through the door and up the stairs of the Musain, no matter how carefully I tried to conceal myself behind the larger silhouette of another, one certain golden-tongued, blue-eyed radical would be sure to notice.

In the two or so months that I had come to know the men dubbed Les Amis de l'ABC, I had learned two very important things. One, the legitimate, more confidential meetings were held on the second story of the Café Musain. Unlike those held downstairs in which Enjolras would speak openly to the general public, these meetings consisted of the real action - at least, what a group of bourgeois schoolboys would consider "real action".

Two, if one was so privileged to be invited to frequent these oh-so-secretive gatherings, one had to be sure to avoid a tardy arrival at all costs for fear of facing the wrath of the leader of said gatherings.

Unfortunately, I was becoming rather good at violating that code.

I was actually later than even I expected to be. By the time I ascended the stairwell to behold Les Amis, they had already dissolved into their own private conversations, producing a collective murmur across the room. The occasional drunken laugh echoed above the buzz. I had missed the formal meeting in its entirety.

"Éponine!"

My gaze followed the voice that had suddenly called out to me and was met with the gentle smile of Jean Prouvaire. I could not help allowing a corner of my mouth to curl upward in return.

In a word, Jehan was docile, kind to men and women alike. I had quickly learned that he was a remarkably nonjudgmental creature, seeing even me, a girl commonly considered filthy and poor in stature, as his equal from the moment of our first meeting. This intrigued me and was perhaps the reason I had dubbed Jehan my favorite of Les Amis.

Well, I should say _a_ favorite. My true favorite possessed auburn hair and an adorable smattering of facial freckles, two features the gentle Jehan lacked.

I took a few tentative steps toward him, the worn floorboards creaking beneath my feet. Even after months of being around these bourgeoisie on an almost daily basis, I could not shake the feeling that I would forever be awkward and out of place around them. "How are you, Prouvaire?"

He stood to greet me properly, a true gentleman. "I am well if you are, Éponine," he said jovially. "What has kept you so long this evening?"

If it were anyone but him, I would have rolled my eyes at this overly pleasant speech to me. But it was Jehan and such was his nature, so I only waved my hand dismissively. "Oh, just my absent mind, Monsieur. I am afraid I lost track of time yet again."

He grinned at me in understanding, settling back into his seat. "I know the feeling well, Mademoiselle. 'Time! on whose arbitrary wing the varying hours must flag or fly.'*"

I chuckled at his verbal theatrics. "Another of your pretty poets?"

"Oh, hardly!" he said with a chuckle of his own. "Lord Byron had a rather nasty club foot, you know. I do not believe there was anything pretty about him."

I shook my head with a grin. Jean Prouvaire was truly one of a kind.

I stepped away from his table then to survey the room before me, my eyes actively roving about in search of the primary reason for my attendance. A frown began to tug at my lips when I found him seemingly absent from both the candlelit oak tables and the bar toward the back of the room.

"Marius is not here, Mademoiselle."

I turned back to Jehan. "Excuse you, Monsieur?" I asked, my tone sounding a bit more irritated than I intended.

Jehan was unoffended by my annoyance, only smiling at me sympathetically. I would have rather he been offended. I hated sympathy. "Just in case you were wondering."

I considered snapping at him but thought better of it. Jehan meant no harm, and with a sensitivity seldom found in any other man, it should have been no wonder to me that he sensed my care for Marius. I only worried that he did not consider my feelings confidential.

So I gave him a curt nod, secretly appreciative of the information he provided me. Feeling my heart slowly sinking to my stomach, I turned to go with a sigh. There was no further reason for my presence.

I had almost retraced my steps to the stairs when I was suddenly caught around the middle. The breath was knocked from me and I staggered back as a greasy mop of dark hair took over my view.

"'PONINE!"

I managed a breathless laugh, placing an arm around the boy who had wound himself tightly around my waist. "Gavroche. What are you up to, monkey?" I asked, using the nickname Azelma and I had given him.

I suppose my visits to the Musain had at least one additional perk besides Marius: my brother. Gavroche had been absent from my life for months at a time after he extracted himself from the Thénardier household. To be allowed to see him alive and well on a regular basis was more of a gift than I could express, no matter what environment in which our encounters took place.

Gavroche released me with a grin. "Do you ever think I am getting a little old to be a monkey?"

"My brother, you are practically an ape!" I said playfully. Forgetting my intended departure, I pulled him out of the way of the stairwell and sat on a vacant bench against the wall. I held him by his shoulders before me. "What have you done with yourself lately? I have not seen you in over a week. Too good for your old sister now, are you?"

Gavroche smirked at me, and I had a vague thought of how handsome a boy he was underneath the sweat and grime that marred his skin. "I should be asking _you_ that question!" His voice was light, but I knew him well enough to sense an undertone of distress. It was in the way he looked toward the floor, fingering the fabric of my dress at my knee thoughtfully. "Where have you been, 'Ponine? I am here more often than you are."

It was easy for me to forget that I was not the only sibling in our relationship to worry for the other.

My eyes softened and I reached out to stroke the hair from his face. "Oh, you know how it is, 'Roche." I lifted a corner of my mouth in a crooked smile, trying to brighten his mood despite my own taking a downward turn. "Pére has just kept me unusually busy lately. That is all."

Gavroche was unconvinced. "Busy with what?" he demanded, brow furrowed. He had no idea of how his innocent question caused my heart to plummet.

My hand stilled on his face, and I was momentarily at a loss for words. I disliked lying to my brother, but how was I to tell him what my latest business entailed? How could I explain to him what our father had forced me into only a week prior, the shameful occupation that was now robbing me of my time, that caused me to loathe myself to the point of screaming? What would he think of me should he find out that his sister had become a wh-

I dashed these thoughts from my head when I noticed a prickling sensation growing at the corners of my eyes. I blinked rapidly, willing myself to be composed. I plastered a grin to my face.

"Only the usual, Gavroche. Trust me, all is well."

I wanted to sob at how the bruises on my thighs burned as I told him this blatant lie, but I forced myself to ignore my shame. It was the only way to retain normalcy, and Gavroche deserved at least that.

He still appeared uncertain, but nodded for my sake. "If you say so. But," he continued, puffing up his chest and lifting his chin, "if Pére or Montparnasse or _anybody_ hurts you, I swear I will-"

A hand suddenly came down on Gavroche's shoulder, halting his verbal tirade before it could begin.

"Feeling spirited today, are we, Gavroche?"

My brother and I lifted our eyes to behold Courfeyrac, a mirthful gleam in his brown eyes.

Gavroche's solemn expression suddenly turned to one of delight, and he grasped the hand on his shoulder in excitement. "Courf!"

I smirked as well. While most of Les Amis seemed to hold Enjolras in the highest esteem, Gavroche's favor rested with Courfeyrac. He positively adored him. A Greek god could not be as honored by his people as Courfeyrac was by my brother. Despite my efforts to look after Gavroche single-handedly, Courfeyrac played the role of his sole provider and caretaker, a favor I could never repay but for which I would be eternally grateful.

Of course, Courfeyrac was just as fond of Gavroche as Gavroche was of him. He was the brother he never had.

"Éponine, Gavroche," he greeted each of us with a grin. "What has you so excited this evening?"

Gavroche placed his hands on his little hips, eyeing me as he said, "Oh, nothing. Just keeping my sister in line." I raised a brow at him challengingly, but he only continued, "She gets a little wily every now and then, you know?"

I scoffed but could not conceal my mirth. My brother had almost as much sass as my sister and I. I would be lying to say that I was not proud.

Courfeyrac crossed his arms, eyeing me in mock austerity as well. "I know it. Interrupting meetings with her untimely entrance is a regular crime of hers. I am surprised she has not yet been smote by our great leader," he joked.

I snorted. "I suspect he wishes to. Speaking of whom, what are you all up to this evening? I saw you working very intently with him and Combeferre when I walked in."

Courfeyrac motioned back toward his table with a flourish. "Why, we were only speaking of how our company lacked a certain dark-haired girl and a munchkin."

I snickered, and Gavroche let out an indignant "Excuse you!"

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. "Well, I cannot stay long. As a matter of fact, I was just leaving, but..." I faltered here.

"Yes?" Courfeyrac asked expectantly.

I chewed my lip for a moment. I dreaded asking for help from anyone, especially the privileged boys of Les Amis, but necessity called, and it was not my first time imploring Courfeyrac for his assistance. I tried not to sound pleading. "Courfeyrac, would you mind-"

"Taking the little gremlin off your hands? Allowing him to hole up in my flat for a while, maybe have a few meals?"

I grinned sheepishly, but I was immensely thankful. My relationship with Les Amis had reached the point that I did not even have to ask, and my brother would be well taken care of.

"You are a saint, Courfeyrac," I said truthfully. "Really."

Courfeyrac waved off my praise. "I would have taken the animal home anyway. Do not mention it."

I laughed aloud. Gavroche was by then playfully scaling Courfeyrac's back to reach his shoulders, carefree as a bird. My shoulders suddenly felt worlds lighter.

"You are a brave man to take _that_ into your home. He bites, you know," I warned.

Courfeyrac grinned in response, reaching behind his head to grasp Gavroche's wrists in order to steady him. "Oh, I know. I found that out weeks ago." He shifted my brother's weight onto his back before continuing in a less joking voice. "But really, 'Ponine, if you must go so soon, I suggest you greet Enjolras. He should know that you at least went through the trouble to be here. He was asking after you earlier."

I fiddled with a loose thread on my sleeve, turning it between my fingers as I glanced at the man from the corner of my eye. "Was he now?"

Courfeyrac nodded. "I cannot say he was overjoyed to learn of your absence. You know how he loves a full audience."

"Of course he does." I sighed and stood from my seat. "Alright then. I suppose it is better to face the gauntlet sooner than later."

"Good choice," Courfeyrac commended as he finally allowed Gavroche to slide to the floor with a cackle. "And the hour is later than I expected. I suppose I ought to be getting this one out of here before the real drunks file in."

Gavroche looked up at him indignantly. "I am not an infant! I have seen drunks before!"

Courfeyrac covered his little mouth with a smirk. He nodded toward me. "Until next time, 'Ponine."

I nodded back. "Yes. And thank you again." I snorted at Gavroche's expression behind his hand and knelt down to his level. "You be good, alright?"

Gavroche pried Courfeyrac's hand from his mouth. "Apes are not meant to behave, woman!"

Courfeyrac shook his head at the pair of us and began to drag my brother to the stairs. "Come along, ape. Out to the jungle with you..."

Gavroche grinned back at me one last time before disappearing down the stairwell. It took me a few moments to realize that I was grinning as well. I shook the expression from my face.

With the absence of my brother I felt the sudden weight of weariness settling in. I wished I could follow Courfeyrac and Gavroche down the stairs and out the door and walk all the way back to where my straw mat and my sister awaited me in Montmartre, but Courfeyrac was right. For fear of possible banishment from future meetings (more importantly, banishment from Marius and Gavroche), I would first have to address the firebrand.

I looked over to where he sat. He remained as he had been before, leaned intently over a piece of parchment with Combeferre at his side. His table stood adjacent to the bar, where I was unsurprised to sight Grantaire hopelessly attempting to entice the barmaid, a half-empty bottle standing forgotten beside him.

I smirked as I sauntered toward him, smoothly swiping the bottle from his person and settling into a chair beside Enjolras all in one motion.

I slid the bottle right in front of his nose. "A peace offering, Monsieur. I apologize for my most untimely arrival," I announced formally. My mouth itched to snicker at his expression. Of course I knew Enjolras did not drink and would think me ridiculous, but if I were to apologize, I would at least find some enjoyment in it.

And tormenting Enjolras was an activity I had come to find consistently enjoyable.

I was not the only one to find the situation humorous. Combeferre eyed me with a smirk as he emitted a cough that sounded suspiciously similar to a chuckle.

As expected, Enjolras was not nearly as amused. He sniffed distastefully at the beverage I had pushed between him and his parchment and peered at me from beneath disapproving brows. "You were-"

"Late. Yes, yes, I _know_," I said with a roll of my eyes. I smirked at him and pushed the bottle closer. "Hence, my offering. I accept your thanks."

Enjolras pulled the bottle from my hands, decidedly setting it to the side and out of my reach. "Even if I did make it a practice to consume such a repulsive substance, would you really deem the presence of a person replaceable by that of an alcoholic beverage?"

I shrugged casually with a quirk of my mouth. "It has sufficed for me before."

I did not really make a practice of consuming alcohol either. After seeing its effects present in my father's lowest moments, I could hardly bring myself to even smell the stuff. I merely wished to gauge Enjolras's reaction. As tedious as his disapproval was, rousing him was twice as entertaining.

"Éponine." It was a warning.

I did not heed it. "_Enjolras_." It had not taken long for me to learn to disregard formalities with this man.

Enjolras sighed, rubbing his jaw tiredly. Combeferre saw this sign of exasperation and took it as his queue to leave us be. The hour was late anyhow, he nodded to the both of us before departing.

I could not blame him. Every member of Les Amis knew by then that I could push Enjolras to the point of explosiveness, a feat apparently thought impossible until I made his acquaintance.

"Éponine," he started tiredly. "You do not have to attend these meetings."

... What?

My smirk finally faltered. That was not the response I had wanted. "Enjolras, I said I was sorry."

"I know."

I momentarily struggled for words. He was serious. Was he banning me from the meetings? No. No, he could not. I altered my expression to match his, showing him that I was serious as well. "I truly am, Enjolras. I want to be here."

"Why? For Marius?"

I was not sure what startled me more - the venom in his voice or his frankness about Marius. I was silent.

He broke our gaze and massaged his temple, as if a headache were suddenly impairing his ability to think. "If you are here merely to see Pontmercy, I would appreciate if you did that elsewhere. I am trying to make a difference here, Éponine. A new France. When I spoke with you that second night you were here, I thought you were as well. That is why I invited you to attend these meetings. If your ulterior motive to attend is your only motive, however, I would prefer that you not attend at all."

I gaped not unlike a fish. Enjolras and I had bickered before, gotten into the most heated of arguments, and even in the midst of those I held the impression that we both possessed a mutual respect for one another. I thought it was respect that allowed us to resume normalcy after our rows, that allowed me to continue attending his meetings and entitled him to my honest opinions. Was that respect just a figment of my imagination?

A thousand emotions swirled inside of me, and I was unsure of which to express. Surprise at his sudden animosity, embarrassment that my affections were not confidential, shame that they had driven me to superficiality, disappointment in Enjolras's disappointment, anger at his nerve to ban me from the Musain, from Les Amis, from Marius...

As always, anger dominated.

I balled my fists in my lap. "_Enjolras_," I said sharply. I did not continue until his eyes rose to meet mine. "Is that what you think of me? That I am just a stray dog that Marius drags in behind him?"

Now Enjolras looked shocked. "Éponine, no. No, I would never-"

"Then _what_?" I asked, ice lacing my every word. "Am I not good enough? My dirt and rags did not bother you at first, but now that I have decided to frequent your precious meetings, it is not so-"

"Éponine, _enough_."

Gifted as he was, his voice was strong despite its softness, and I clicked my mouth shut in spite of myself. I had not raised my voice for fear of making a scene, but when had my pulse so accelerated? I struggled not to breathe heavily.

Enjolras sighed heavily. His eyes seemed to search mine, piercing them with their intensity. I looked down. "I did not know it meant so much to you. I assumed..." He stopped, and if he were not a man of stone, I would have sworn I heard his breath catch in his throat.

I froze. His hand was on my face.

"Éponine."

His thumb brushed my cheek, and I was horrified to glimpse the glistening of a tear on it.

I pulled away violently, wiping at my eyes in frustration and anger.

"_Merde_."

And I was out of the building, running away from Enjolras, away from Les Amis, away from _everything_, and back toward Montmartre before a single rational thought could cross my mind.

Where the _hell_ did those tears even come from?

Maybe I was hormonal. Maybe I allowed my insecurities to finally overcome me. Perhaps I was overreacting. Perhaps I had just held on for too long, bottled up every hurt, every feeling with no regard for my emotional capacity until it was finally exceeded and now I was broken.

_Perhaps_, I dared to think spitefully, _you care more about what they think of you, of what Enjolras thinks of you, than you care to admit_.

But even in my sorry state I was sure of one thing.

I had been pretending. In reality, I had no money, no functioning family, no romantic love, and now not even my virginity to speak of, and I had gone about the Café Musain as if I were accepted for that, as if I had the world to gain.

And I would not make that mistake again.

* * *

Chapter 4 Word Count: 3,438

I actually meant to make this one longer, but I had to face the fact that it was either get it up now as is or wait another few weeks. I chose the former. Not to worry, the next chapter will bring what I could not include here.

Drop a review please! Comments and criticism alike are always welcome. And recs. I love me some recs.


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